thedevilworkshardnheskickngmyass

[thedevilworkshardnheskickngmyass]

The Ranch Next Door

Joel miller x fem!reader x Negan smith | MAIN MASTERLIST

Warnings! smut!! minors DNI! Age gap (I imagine them 50s and reader is in college (20s-30s)), oral m & f!receiving, 3some, p in v (wrap it up), creampie, nipple play, fingering, squirting, gagging, cum tasting (? idk), overstimulation, passing out, size kink, lmk if i forgot something wc: 6.5k Summary: Coming home from college for the break suddenly was intresting when you meet your dad's hot new neighbours

A/n: Okay I actually have soooooo much uni work to do but I needed to get this out of my system before i forgot what i was gonna write :). And I actually need these two to act in something tgt pleaseee. Anyways i hope you guys enjoyed this so def lemme know what you think!

The sun was setting over the rolling hills of the countryside, casting a golden hue over the sprawling farmland. You hadn’t been home in months, and the familiar scent of hay and earth filled your lungs as you stepped out of your car. Your dad’s farmhouse stood in the distance, its porch light flickering like a beacon. You stretched your arms, feeling the stiffness from the long drive melt away. College life had kept you busy, but there was something about coming home that always grounded you.

As you grabbed your bags from the trunk, you noticed movement in the neighboring field. Two figures on horseback were riding along the fence line, their silhouettes sharp against the fading light. You squinted, trying to make out who they were. Your dad had mentioned new neighbors moving in, but you hadn’t expected them to look like that.

One of the men tipped his hat in your direction, and your stomach did a little flip. You quickly looked away, pretending to fumble with your bags. When you glanced back, they were closer, their horses trotting toward you. Your heart raced as you realized just how big they were—both in stature and presence. 

“Well, well, what do we got here?” The first man’s voice was deep, smooth, and laced with a teasing edge. He dismounted his horse with ease, his boots hitting the ground with a solid thud. His dark hair was peppered with gray, and his hazel eyes locked onto yours. He wore a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms. You swallowed hard.

“Joel,” he introduced himself, tipping his hat again. “You must be the college kid your dad’s been braggin’ about.” You nodded, suddenly feeling very small under his gaze. “Yeah, that’s me. I’m, uh, just visiting over the break.”

The second man swung down from his horse, his movements fluid and confident. He looked tougher than Joel, with a smirk that could only be described as dangerous. His leather jacket and black hat gave him a roguish charm, and his eyes–dark and calculating–seemed to see right through you. “Name’s Negan,” he said, his voice dripping with charm. “And let me tell you, darlin’, you’re a sight for sore eyes. We don’t get too many pretty faces around here.” You felt your cheeks flush, and you quickly looked down at your shoes. “Nice to meet you both,” you mumbled, suddenly very aware of how out of place you felt in your city clothes.

Joel chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine. “Don’t let Negan scare you off. He’s all bark, no bite.” Negan feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. “Now, Joel, that’s just hurtful. I’m a gentleman through and through.” He turned his attention back to you, his smirk widening. “Ain’t that right, sweetheart?” You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. The tension between the three of you was palpable, and you couldn’t tell if it was intimidation or something else entirely that had your heart racing.

Joel stepped closer, his eyes softening just a fraction. “You need help with those bags?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, I’ve got it. Thanks, though.” Negan leaned against the fence, crossing his arms over his chest. “You sure? We’re just a couple of friendly neighbors, always willin’ to lend a hand.” “Or two,” Joel added, his lips quirking into a half-smile.

You laughed nervously, gripping the straps of your bags tighter. “I’m good, really. But thanks.”

They exchanged a look, one that you couldn’t quite decipher, before Joel nodded. “Alright then. You know where to find us if you need anything.” Negan tipped his hat, his smirk never wavering. “And I do mean anything, darlin’.”

You watched as they mounted their horses and rode off, their laughter carrying on the wind. As soon as they were out of sight, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Your dad’s voice calling your name snapped you out of your daze, and you hurried toward the house, your mind still reeling from the encounter.

—---------------

The next morning, you decided to explore the farm, hoping to clear your head. The air was crisp, and the sound of birds chirping filled the silence. You wandered toward the old barn, where your dad kept his tools and equipment. As you approached, you heard voices—deep, familiar voices. 

“You think she’ll come around?” Negan’s voice carried a playful tone. “Dunno,” Joel replied. “She seemed pretty skittish.” You froze, your heart pounding in your chest. Were they talking about you? Before you could retreat, Negan’s voice called out.

“Well, well, look who decided to join us.” You turned to see Joel and Negan leaning against the barn, their eyes fixed on you. Joel had a cigarette dangling from his lips, while Negan twirled a piece of straw between his fingers. They looked like they’d stepped right out of a Western movie, and you felt like the damsel in distress. “Didn’t mean to interrupt,” you said, taking a step back.Joel shook his head. “You’re not interruptin’. We were just talkin’ about you, actually.”Your eyes widened. “Oh?”

Negan pushed off the barn and sauntered toward you, his smirk firmly in place. “Yeah, darlin’. We were wonderin’ if you’d let us show you around. You know, give you the grand tour.” You glanced between them, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. “I, uh, I don’t want to be any trouble.” Joel stepped forward, his voice softer this time. “It’s no trouble. We’d like to get to know you better.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine. There was something in his tone-something that made your stomach flutter. Negan, on the other hand, was all charm and mischief, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“What do you say, sweetheart?” Negan asked, his voice low and teasing. “You up for a little adventure?”You hesitated, but something about the way they were looking at you—like you were the only person in the world—made you nod. “Okay. Just… don’t let me fall off a horse or anything.”

Negan laughed, a rich, hearty sound that made your cheeks heat up. “Don’t worry, darlin’. We’ll take real good care of you.”Joel’s hand brushed against yours as he took one of your bags, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. “C’mon,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Let’s get started.”As they led you toward the stables, you couldn’t help but feel like you were stepping into something much bigger than yourself. The tension between the three of you was undeniable, and you had a feeling this weekend was going to be anything but ordinary.

—-

Joel and Negan had taken you riding across the fields, their easy banter and playful teasing making you feel both exhilarated and flustered. By the time you returned to your dad’s farmhouse, the sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. You were still buzzing from the adventure, your cheeks flushed and your heart light.

As you stepped inside, your dad looked up from his newspaper, raising an eyebrow. “Where’ve you been all day?” he asked, his tone casual but curious.“I, uh, met the neighbors,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Joel and Negan. They showed me around.”Your dad’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Those two, huh? They’re quite the characters. Good men, though. Hard workers.” He paused, then added, “Why don’t you invite them over for dinner tomorrow? Be neighborly.” Your stomach did a little flip at the thought of spending more time with them, but you nodded. “Sure, I’ll ask them.”

—--------------------------------------

The next day, you found yourself standing in front of your closet, agonizing over what to wear. You finally settled on a pair of denim shorts and a black tank top, the lace of your bra just barely peeking out at the edges. It was casual but flirty, and you couldn’t help but wonder what Joel and Negan would think.

The doorbell rang just as you were finishing up in the kitchen, and you called out to your dad, “I’ll get it!” You opened the door to find Joel standing there, looking every bit the rugged cowboy in his plaid shirt and jeans. His hair was slightly damp, as if he’d just showered, and he held a bottle of wine in one hand. His eyes softened as they landed on you, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Hi there, sweetheart,” he said, his voice warm and smooth. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek, his stubble brushing against your skin. You felt your face heat up instantly, and you hoped he didn’t notice how your breath hitched.“Hi, Joel,” you managed to say, stepping aside to let him in. “Negan’s not with you?”

“He’ll be here in a bit,” Joel replied, handing you the bottle of wine. “Had somethin’ to take care of first.”

You led him into the living room, where your dad greeted him with a firm handshake. The two of them fell into easy conversation, and you busied yourself in the kitchen, trying to calm your racing heart. Joel’s presence was overwhelming in the best way, and you couldn’t help but steal glances at him as he chatted with your dad.  Five minutes later, the doorbell rang again. This time, when you opened the door, Negan stood there, his signature smirk already in place. 

He was dressed in his usual leather jacket and jeans, a six-pack of beer in one hand. His dark eyes swept over you in a way that made your knees weak. “Well, well, darlin’,” he drawled, his voice dripping with charm. “You look… damn good.” His gaze lingered on the lace of your bra peeking out from your tank top, and you felt your cheeks burn. Before you could respond, he leaned in and kissed your cheek, his lips lingering just a fraction longer than Joel’s had. The scent of leather and cologne filled your senses, and you had to grip the doorframe to steady yourself.

“Negan,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Come on in.”

He stepped inside, his eyes never leaving yours. “Thanks, sweetheart. Brought some beer for the occasion.”

You blushed furiously, unable to form a coherent response. Negan chuckled, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you, and followed you into the living room. He greeted your dad with a hearty handshake and a joke, and soon the three of them were laughing like old friends.

As you set the table, you couldn’t help but feel the tension in the air. Joel’s quiet intensity and Negan’s bold charm created a dynamic that was both thrilling and nerve-wracking. Every time Joel’s eyes met yours, you felt a jolt of electricity, and every time Negan flashed you that devilish grin, your stomach did somersaults.

Dinner was a lively affair, filled with stories and laughter. Joel was surprisingly sweet, offering to help you clear the table and refill your glass of wine. Negan, on the other hand, was relentless in his teasing, his comments always toeing the line between flirty and inappropriate—though he kept it toned down around your dad. At one point, you caught Joel’s eye as you licked your fork in a slow, deliberate motion, your lips curling into a subtle smirk. His gaze darkened, and he shifted in his seat, clearly affected. Negan, sitting across from you, noticed the exchange and raised an eyebrow, a sly grin spreading across his face. Your dad, engrossed in a story about the farm, didn’t notice a thing.

After dinner, Negan leaned back in his chair and stretched. “Mind if I use your bathroom?” he asked your dad.“Upstairs, first door on the left,” your dad replied, gesturing toward the staircase. Negan nodded and headed upstairs, his boots thudding against the wooden steps. As he reached the landing, he noticed a slightly open drawer in your room. Curiosity got the better of him, and he peeked inside. His eyes landed on a pair of cute pink lace panties with a delicate ribbon on the front. He bit his lip, his mind racing with thoughts he knew he shouldn’t be having.

“Did you find it?” your dad shouted from downstairs, snapping Negan out of his reverie.

“Yeah, got it!” Negan called back, quickly closing the drawer—though not all the way—and making his way to the bathroom. He took a deep breath, trying to shake the image of those panties from his mind, but it was no use. When he returned downstairs, he avoided your gaze, though you noticed the faint flush on his cheeks. Joel, ever observant, raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

After Joel and Negan left, you went upstairs to your room and noticed the drawer slightly ajar, the pink panties peeking out. A slow smile spread across your face as you realized what had happened. You chuckled to yourself, feeling a mix of embarrassment and satisfaction.“Those cowboys,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head. “What am I going to do with them?”

—----------------------------------------------

The next morning, the sun was already high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the farm. You woke up to the sound of your dad groaning in the living room. He was sprawled on the couch, one arm draped over his eyes, looking every bit the picture of a man who’d had one too many beers the night before. 

“Dad?” you called out, trying not to laugh. “You okay?” He groaned again, waving a hand in your direction. “Joel called. Said he’d come over to help me with the fence on the south side of the property. But I… I don’t think I’m gonna make it, kiddo.”

You bit back a laugh, walking over to him. “You’re hungover, aren’t you?”

He peeked at you from under his arm, his face pale but amused. “Maybe. Just a little. That Negan and his damn beer… I swear, that man could drink a horse under the table.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “It’s okay, Dad. I’ll help Joel. You just rest.” He sighed in relief, giving you a grateful smile. “You’re a lifesaver, sweetheart. Tell Joel I’ll owe him one.”

You nodded, heading back to your room to get ready.

You decided to wear a white tank top that hugged your figure just right, the neckline dipping just enough to show a hint of cleavage. Your jean shorts were a little shorter than usual, riding high on your thighs, and you paired them with your red cowboy boots. You glanced in the mirror, running a hand through your hair, and smiled. You looked good, and you knew it.

—---------------------------

When you stepped outside, the heat of the day hit you like a wall. You spotted Joel in the distance, bent over the hood of his truck, his muscles straining as he worked on something under the hood. His plaid shirt was tied around his waist, leaving him in a plain white short sleeve top that clung to his broad shoulders and strong arms. You felt your stomach flutter as you approached him.

“Hey, Joel!” you called out, waving as you got closer.

He straightened up, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. His blue eyes landed on you, and a slow, easy smile spread across his face. “Well, hey there, sweetheart. What’re you doin’ out here?”You shrugged, trying to act casual despite the way your heart was racing. “Dad’s a little… under the weather. Said he owed you one for bailing on the fence.”

Joel chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine. “That old man ain’t washed up against a little hangover, huh? But that’s alright. I’ll take good care of ya, darlin’.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at the way he said “darlin’” in that thick Texan drawl of his. You stood there for a moment, watching as he went back to working on his truck. His hands were rough and calloused, but they moved with a precision that was almost mesmerizing. You couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles flexed under his shirt, the fabric clinging to his chest and stomach.

—----------------------

The next two hours were a blur of chores. Joel had you helping him with everything from fixing the fence to hauling hay bales. He was patient with you, showing you how to do things the right way, but there was always that undercurrent of tension between you. Every time his hand brushed against yours, or his eyes lingered on you a little too long, you felt your breath catch.

Finally, Joel gestured to his truck. “Alright, darlin’. Last chore of the day. Gonna need you to help me wash this ol’ girl.” You nodded, grabbing a bucket and filling it with water from the hose. Joel did the same, and for a moment, the two of you worked in silence, scrubbing the truck down. But then, out of nowhere, Joel splashed a handful of water at you, hitting you square in the chest.

You gasped, the cold water soaking through your tank top. “Joel!” you squealed, glaring at him. He laughed, a deep, hearty sound that made your stomach flip. “What? Just tryin’ to cool you off, sweetheart.”You narrowed your eyes, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

Before he could react, you scooped up a handful of water and threw it at him, hitting him right in the chest. His shirt clung to his body, and you couldn’t help but stare at the way it revealed the outline of his muscles. He had that perfect dad bod—strong and solid, with just the right amount of softness. You bit your lip, crossing your legs as you felt a heat pool in your stomach.

Joel noticed the way you were looking at him, and his smile turned into something darker, more intense. He ran a hand through his wet hair, pushing it back from his face, and took a step closer to you. “Eyes up here darlin’,” he said, his voice low and rough.

You didn’t have time to respond before his arm was around your waist, pulling you against him. His other hand cupped your face, and then his lips were on yours, hot and demanding. Your hands flew to his neck, tangling in the damp hair at the nape of his neck as you deepened the kiss. It was unlike anything you’d ever experienced—raw, passionate, and completely overwhelming.

Joel’s hands moved down your body, one gripping your waist while the other slid under your ass, lifting you effortlessly onto the hood of his truck. You gasped into his mouth as he kissed you again, his lips moving to your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. Your head fell back, a moan escaping your lips as his hands roamed over your body.

His fingers found the button of your jeans, and before you could even think to stop him, he had them undone, sliding them down just enough to reveal the cute pink lace panties you were wearing—the same ones Negan had seen the day before. Joel let out a low groan, his eyes dark with desire. “Fuck, darlin’. You’re so damn cute.”You blushed, but before you could say anything, his hand was sliding your panties to the side, his thick fingers finding your wet folds. You moaned, your hips bucking against his hand as he slid a finger inside you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. The sensation was overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but cry out, your hands gripping his shoulders for support.

Joel kissed you again, his lips swallowing your moans as he worked you with his fingers. But then, just as quickly as it had started, he pulled away, cursing under his breath. He slid your shorts back up, his hands trembling slightly, and took a step back. “Joel?” you asked, your voice shaky and confused.He ran a hand over his face, his breathing heavy. “I… I gotta go,” he said, his voice rough. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I shouldn’t have…” He trailed off, shaking his head before turning and walking away, leaving you sitting on the hood of his truck, your heart racing and your body aching for more.

—------------------------------------------------

You continued washing Joel’s truck and were so deep in your thoughts that you didn’t hear Negan approach until his voice broke the silence.

“Hi there, gorgeous,” he said, that signature smirk playing on his lips. You turned to see him leaning against the fence, his dark eyes fixed on you. He looked as effortlessly handsome as ever, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder and his jeans hugging his legs just right.

“Hey, Negan,” you replied, trying to sound casual despite the way your heart skipped a beat.

He tilted his head, studying you. “Everything alright? You look a little… sad.”

You shook your head quickly, forcing a smile. “No, I’m fine. Just… thinking.” Negan raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, his gaze dropped slightly, and you realized your tank top had ridden up, revealing the white bow of your cute lace panties peeking out above your shorts. His eyes lingered for a moment, and you felt your cheeks flush as he raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Where’s Joel?” he asked, his voice casual but his eyes still fixed on you.

“Dunno,” you replied, tugging your tank top down self-consciously. “Somewhere inside, I think.”Negan nodded, his smirk never wavering. “Thanks, darlin’.” He stepped closer, and before you could react, he slapped your ass playfully, his hand lingering to give it a soft rub. You gasped, your eyes widening as he leaned in to kiss your ear, his breath warm against your skin.“I know you’re wearing those cute panties, babygirl,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing. “Don’t be naughty, or I’ll snitch to your dad.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he was already walking away, laughing to himself as he headed toward the house. You stood there, your heart racing and your body tingling from his touch. He had a way of leaving you flustered and wanting more, and this time was no exception.

—--------------

Negan stepped inside the house, calling out for Joel. “Joel? You in here, old man?” Joel appeared at the top of the stairs, his expression unreadable. “What do you want, Negan?”

Negan grinned, leaning against the doorframe. “Didn’t know that pretty little thing was visiting you. Her dad’s hungover or something?” Joel chuckled, though there was a tension in his shoulders. “Yeah, something like that.”

Negan’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the way Joel avoided his gaze. “Something happen?” he asked, his tone casual but probing. Joel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck, man… I screwed up.” Negan’s eyebrows shot up. “You fuck her?” Joel shook his head slightly, his voice low. “I, uh… kissed her. And… put one finger in her.” Negan’s eyes widened, and he let out a low whistle. “Fuck, Joel. How’d her pussy feel?”

Joel rolled his eyes, though there was a hint of a smirk on his lips. “Man, she’s the daughter of our neighbor. And like, twenty years younger than us.” Negan laughed, a deep, hearty sound. “Hell yeah, so her pussy’s even tighter. Fuck, I’d do anything to hit that.”

Joel chuckled, though there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes. “Go ahead. I think she’s really craving some old man dick right now.”

Negan feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. “Who you callin’ old?” He paused, his smirk returning. “You think she’d wanna take two old dicks? Think she could handle that?”

Joel’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked like he was considering it. The thought of it made his blood run hot, and he cleared his throat, trying to maintain some semblance of control. “Negan… I don’t know, man.” Negan stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive tone. “Fuck, Joel, she’s dressed like a slut. She’s wearing those fucking panties for a reason. Didn’t she love it when your one finger got inside her? Imagine how she’d go crazy for your dick, huh?”

Joel’s hand rubbed the back of his neck, his mind racing. He knew it was wrong, but the thought of having you—of sharing you with Negan—was too tempting to ignore. Finally, he nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Fine. Let’s take her upstairs.”

Negan’s grin widened, and he clapped Joel on the shoulder. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

—--------------------

Negan walked back outside, where you were still standing by the truck, trying to calm your racing heart. He approached you with that same confident swagger, his eyes gleaming with mischief. 

“Hi there, cutie,” he said, his voice smooth as honey. He lowered himself to whisper in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “You still wet? ‘Cause your daddies got a surprise for you.”Before you could register what was happening, he scooped you up in his arms, carrying you bridal-style toward the house. You gasped, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he laughed, the sound rich and deep.

“Negan, what are you—?” you started, but he cut you off with a wink.“Just relax, babygirl. You’re gonna love this.”He carried you inside, where Joel was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of hesitation—but it was quickly replaced by something darker, something that made your stomach flip. “Upstairs,” Joel said, his voice low and commanding.Negan didn’t need to be told twice. He carried you up the stairs, his grip firm but gentle, and you felt your heart pounding in your chest. 

—---------------------

Joel led the way, his broad shoulders filling the hallway as he guided Negan to his bedroom. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting shadows across the king-sized bed. Negan laid you down gently on the mattress, his eyes never leaving yours.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, your heart racing as you took in the sight of the two men standing at the foot of the bed. Joel’s arms were crossed over his chest, his piercing eyes dark with desire. Negan stood beside him, one hand rubbing his beard as he stared at you with a hunger that made your stomach flip.

“Fuck, darlin’,” Negan said, his voice low and rough. “You’re so damn sexy.”

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks, but you didn’t look away. The way they were looking at you—like you were the most beautiful thing they’d ever seen—made you feel powerful and vulnerable all at once.

“Take off your top,” Negan ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for the hem of your tank top, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. You were left in nothing but your bra, the lace barely containing your breasts. Joel’s eyes darkened as he stepped closer, his gaze raking over your exposed skin.

He reached out, his calloused fingers gently tilting your chin up so you were looking into his eyes. Without a word, he leaned down and captured your lips in a searing kiss. His mouth was hot and demanding, and you melted into him, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. As he deepened the kiss, his lips trailed down to your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin and making you gasp and your bra strap fell down your shoulder.

Joel’s hands moved to the back of your bra, his fingers deftly unhooking the clasp and letting the fabric fall away. He lowered the cup, exposing your perked nipple to the cool air. “How cute,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. He moved slightly so Negan could see, and you locked eyes with the man, your heart pounding in your chest.Negan bit his lip, his eyes dark with desire. “Fuck, Joel, she’s perfect.”

Before you could respond, Joel’s mouth was on your nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud before he sucked it into his mouth. You moaned, your back arching off the bed as pleasure shot through you. Joel bit down gently, the sharp sting making you cry out.

Meanwhile, Negan was busy pulling off your shorts, his hands sliding down your thighs as he revealed your lace panties. “Fuck, I can see how wet you are, darlin’,” he said, his voice rough with need. “Joel, look at this.”

Joel hummed against your nipple, his hands moving to your other breast as he continued to tease you. Negan hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down slowly, agonizingly so. You whined, your hips lifting off the bed in an attempt to speed him up.“Oh, is someone impatient?” Negan teased, his smirk widening as he looked down at you. “Be patient, doll. I’ll fuck you soon enough.”

His words sent a jolt of heat straight to your core, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Finally, your panties were off, and Negan’s fingers were on you, rubbing slow circles over your clit. You whimpered, your hips bucking against his hand as he added two fingers inside you without warning. “Fuck!” you gasped, your nails digging into the sheets.

“Heard you already took one finger today,” Negan said, his voice dripping with amusement. “So I know you can handle more, babygirl.” You moaned, the realization that Joel and Negan had been talking about you—about this—making you even hotter. Joel’s mouth moved to your other nipple, sucking and biting as Negan’s fingers worked you open. The dual sensations were overwhelming, and you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck, she’s so wet, Joel,” Negan said, his voice strained.“Fuck I know,” Joel replied, his lips leaving your breast to capture yours in another deep kiss. When he pulled away, he looked down at you with a wicked grin. “Negan, why don’t you let her suck your dick while I eat her sweet pussy?”

Negan’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. “Now THAT’S what I’m talking about.” You barely had time to process what was happening before Joel was spreading your legs, his mouth descending on your pussy with a hunger that made your toes curl. Negan, meanwhile, unbuckled his pants, freeing his cock and positioning himself at your lips.“Open up, babygirl,” he said, and almost melted at the sight of you.

You obeyed, your mouth widening as Negan slid the tip of his cock past your lips. You licked at the precum, moaning around him as Joel’s tongue delved into your pussy. It felt so good. Joel’s tongue flicking over your clit while Negan’s cock hit the back of your throat made you feel hazy.

Negan gripped your hair, his hips moving slowly as he fucked your mouth. “Fuck, you’re so good at this,” he groaned, his eyes locked on yours. Joel added a finger, then another, curling them inside you as he sucked on your clit. The combination of his fingers and tongue had you writhing on the bed, your moans muffled by Negan’s cock. You tried to focus on sucking Negan's dick but the pleasure of Joel's tongue inside you made it very difficult. 

“Focus on your own pleasure, babygirl I don’t wanna cum yet,” Negan said, pulling out of your mouth to give you a moment to breathe. “Let Joel take care of you.” You fell back against the mattress, your chest heaving as Joel continued to work you closer and closer to the edge. His eyes met yours between your thighs, and the intensity in his gaze made your stomach clench. You could feel the pressure building, your orgasm just out of reach.

And then it hit you—hard. You screamed as you squirted on Joel's face, your body convulsing as he rode out your orgasm with his fingers and tongue. Negan watched, his cock in his hand as he stroked himself, his eyes dark with desire.“Holy shit!” Negan yelled, his voice filled with awe. “That was fucking hot.” You collapsed back onto the bed, your body trembling as Joel finally pulled away, a satisfied smirk on his lips. 

“Fuck, Joel, I wanna feel that sweet pussy around my cock,” Negan said, switching places with Joel. Joel looked at you with soft, sweet eyes, his hand gently rubbing over your cheek before cupping your chin. “You alright, darlin’?” he asked. You nodded, biting your lip as you looked up at him with teary eyes.

“Fuck, you’re so cute, baby. Do you think your jaw can handle sucking my dick right now?” he asked. You nodded again, and he chuckled. “Words, please,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Yes, Daddy, I wanna suck your dick,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly. His hands moved to unbuckle his belt, and he smirked. “Alright, anything for you baby.”

Negan, now standing by your legs with his pants off, laughed. “Daddy, huh? That’s new.” He stripped off his shirt, revealing his toned body adorned with sexy tattoos. He grabbed your thighs, positioning himself at your entrance. You gulped nervously, noticing how big he was.

“Don’t worry, doll. It’ll fit,” Negan reassured you with a smirk. He looked into your eyes as he slowly entered you, drawing a moan from your lips. Your hands gripped the sheets tightly as he filled you.“Fuck, look at you, stretching for me so good. God, you feel amazing around my cock,” he groaned. You whimpered, still adjusting to his size, and hesitated to take Joel into your mouth.

As negan began moving faster, and the initial sting faded, it was replaced by a hot, pleasurable fullness. Finally, you turned your head toward Joel, who was already anticipating your next move. You propped yourself up on your elbows and took him into your mouth. His precum tasted sweeter than Negan’s, though they were roughly the same size.

You teased the tip of Joel’s cock with your tongue, and he groaned. “Fuck, darlin’, don’t tease me,” he said, his voice strained. You glanced up at him through your lashes, smiling around his length. 

When suddenly, Negan thrust HARD into you, and Joel gripped the back of your head, pushing himself deeper into your mouth. You gagged, drool escaping your lips as Joel held you in place.“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Joel moaned. Negan laughed, his voice rough. “Her pussy clenched so hard just then. Fuck.”The reality of the situation hit you—you were here, with two older, incredibly sexy men. It felt surreal, like a dream. Joel snapped you out of your thoughts when he spoke up.

“Negan, can I feel her pussy for a second?” Joel asked. Negan nodded, pulling out of you with a wet sound that made you gasp. Joel withdrew from your mouth and moved to your front, entering you without warning. You cried out, the sudden fullness overwhelming.

“Holyyy shit,” Joel said, looking over at Negan, who laughed. “I know, right? It’s like a virgin pussy, but we both know she ain’t. Am i right you fucking slut?” Negan said, his tone teasing. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss that quickly turned into a full-on makeout session. Joel continued thrusting into you, his head falling back as he lost himself in the sensation.

Your orgasm was building, but Joel suddenly pulled out. “I wanna cum in her mouth,” he said to Negan, who nodded. “I get to breed her?” Negan asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Yeah, go ahead. I wanna see her swallow my seed like the good girl she is,” Joel replied. He positioned himself at your mouth again and entered it. You could taste yourself on him just as Negan reentered you. He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, angling himself to hit your G-spot with every thrust. “Fuck Negan” you moaned.

“Call me Daddy,” Negan demanded, his voice rough. “Daddy,” you moaned, your voice breaking as he pinched your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through you.“Good girl,” he praised, his pace relentless and softly rubbing your clit now.

Your mind was spinning, overstimulated but craving more. You felt your orgasm approaching again, and Joel was close too. He gripped your head tighter, moving you faster on his cock until tears streamed down your cheeks.

With a groan, Joel came, his head falling back as he spilled into your mouth. You swallowed every drop, licking his tip clean as he pulled away. “Fuck, that’s so hot,” Joel said, tucking himself back into his pants. He sat down in a rocking chair, watching as Negan continued to fuck you. Negan’s thrusts grew harder, and you finally came, your body trembling as you squirted around his cock. He groaned, filling you with his release.

“Fuck, I hope you’re on birth control, babygirl, ‘cause that’s a big load,” he said, his voice ragged. You moaned at the feeling of his warmth inside you, but suddenly, your vision blurred. Your eyes rolled back, and everything went black as you collapsed.

—----

After a few minutes, you slowly stirred awake, your head resting comfortably on Joel's pillow. As your vision cleared, you noticed both men standing nearby, their eyes fixed on you with a mix of concern and amusement. Joel sat on the edge of the bed, his hand gently brushing through your hair in a soothing motion. Negan, leaning against the wall, smirked down at you, his arms crossed over his chest.

"W-What happened?" you asked, your voice soft and slightly disoriented as you tried to piece together the last moments before everything went dark.Negan chuckled, his deep voice filling the room. "You passed out, sweetheart. Couldn't handle my cock after all, huh? You squirted like crazy,damn, it was something else." His words were laced with pride, but there was a teasing glint in his eyes that made your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

You instinctively looked away, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Negan noticed your discomfort and quickly moved to sit beside you on the bed. His large hand rested on your thigh, his touch surprisingly gentle as he tried to reassure you. "Hey, shh, it's okay, baby. Don't be embarrassed. We loved every second of it. You were incredible," he said, his tone softer now, almost tender.

Joel, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up. His voice was calm and steady, a stark contrast to Negan's playful demeanor. "I'll go tell your dad you're taking a nap. I'll say you did a good job with helping me and got tired." He gave you a small, reassuring smile and a wink before standing up and heading toward the door.

Taglist: @misguidedasgardian @highinmiamiii @aretha170

alltime: @emmaaas-posts

[thedevilworkshardnheskickngmyass]

Outplayed (Robert Fischer x fem!Reader) [+18]

Pairing: Frat boy!Robert Fischer x Fem!Reader Summary: You find yourself at the biggest frat party of the season and you can't help but beat a cocky, spoiled frat bro at his own game.

Word count: 3,336

Contents: (Minors DNI). AU college boy robert! slight dom/sub themes, dirty talk, drinking, oral (f receiving), face sitting, slight orgasm denial.

Cherry's author's notes: I told you we had them lined up! As somebody who isn't american and wouldn't know how to write a frat party, I really have to thank @fuckiingloser for building this fic, I love you girl.

@fuckiingloser's author's notes: Everything about robert fischer screams retired college frat boy to me so this was a very fun one to write and reminded me of my days in college, we hope you enjoy!

It wasn’t exactly a place that you’d ever thought you’d be, that’s for sure. In one of the biggest frat houses in the country, on a Saturday night during the biggest rager of the year. But life had turned its unpredictable gears and placed you there.

You were visiting your best friend from back home at her college. She had joined a sorority and had been invited to the neighboring frat house, Sigma Chi’s annual spring mixer which happened to be the wildest party of the entire year.

Hundreds of tipsy or straight up drunk people packed into a massive, dirty frat house wasn’t necessarily your scene or style, but the free music, free booze and free drugs were too tempting to refuse.

After waiting in line outside for 20 minutes for some of the ugliest assholes standing at the front door of the frat to decide if your friend and you were “hot enough to get in for free”, the self-proclaimed “bouncers” decided you were all indeed sexy enough to not pay, and finally let you in.

The house was massive, to say the least. Greek letters were plastered everywhere and Christmas string lights were strewn all over the room. Solo cups and poorly-crushed cans laid everywhere all over the floor, which by itself was sticky under the soles of your shoes from all the spilled beer and God only knew what else.

Everything was dark except for the flashing strobe lights coming from the living room. The music was deafeningly loud, pumping bass through the entire place and making the floors shake. The smell and fog of weed smoke hung thick in the air and mixed with the warmth of dozens of people jampacked in the halls and every room.

You held onto your friend’s hand for dear life, afraid to get lost as you wormed your way through the sea of scantily clad women and frat bros in polos, before finally reaching the kitchen. The island was filled with hundred bottles of different booze and mixers.

Jackpot.

There, you showed off your basic bartending skills to your friend, making you both some disgustingly strong drinks to nurse on before making your way to the living room and starting to dance. The heavy bass pounded into your ears as you sipped your drink. You danced, laughed and grinded together with your friend, having the time of your lives.

“That guy’s staring…” Your best friend leaned in to yell into your ear over the music. “In the doorway…” You looked up and saw him leaning on the door frame, your eyes locked for a moment. He then started to check you out shamelessly, eyes roaming over you like he wanted to eat you alive. Finally, he gave you a million dollar smirk that screamed: “my family has money, a lot of it…”

“He looks like a douche.” You yelled back to her, making her laugh out loud. He was hot, sure, but the whole privileged, rich, frat boy wasn’t really your type. You turned around to face her and kept on dancing, shaking off any feelings you had about the mystery man undressing you with his eyes.

Once your cups were empty, you so kindly volunteered to get refills, the perfect excuse to take a break from the stuffy dance floor and get a fresh drink to keep your buzz going. You pushed through the crowd into the kitchen and towards the wide array of bottles and cans, pouring something strong in your cup.

“Need a hand?” Suddenly, you heard a voice from behind that coaxed you to turn around and see who it could be… and of course, it was him, Mister Million Dollar Smirk walking up to lean on the counter next to you, his pretty blue eyes rolling over you shamelessly again.

“Do I need a frat boy to pour me a drink?” You asked sarcastically. “I think I’m capable but thanks…”. He smiled a bit at your slight rejection, something he’s obviously not used to.

“I’m Robert… Friends call me Rob, I’m the president of Sig Chi…” He tried to charm you, almost as if that information was supposed to change your mind somehow.

You sipped on your drink, making him wait for an answer while you turned to look him over a little.

“Is that supposed to make me drop to my knees and suck you off or something?” You asked playfully yet bitchy, making him grin even bigger. Sassy, he liked that. Your words carried some truth to them, however. He was indeed used to girls throwing themselves at him. This was a whole different game you were playing.

Rob didn't even respond to your comment and instead went for the flattery. You watched his baby blue eyes fall towards your crop top, reading the words “you wish” bedazzled across your tits and licking his lips at the sight of your nipples through the tight fabric.

His eyes then trailed down over your exposed tummy to your tight little black skirt, looking over your thick soft thighs. You almost had him drooling and you hadn't even done anything yet. His gaze was almost predatory, like an animal looking to mate and you couldn’t lie, your pussy fluttered alive, dampening as he looked you over intently.

Rob leaned forward a little, looking into your eyes.

“You are so fuckin’ sexy in this little skirt...” He said in a more intimate tone, his fingertips brushing the dark fabric gently, hoping the praise would get him somewhere… Anywhere…

You smirked at his next attempt, feeling wanted and entertained at the same time. You sipped your drink a little before speaking, loving the impatience you could feel growing on him.

“I know… That’s why I wore it.” You said back like a smart ass, and he couldn’t help but huff out another laugh at being shot down again.

Robert was so used to easy sorority girls at his school, ones that he didn’t even have to ask for something. They just came to him. Your challenge piqued his interest even if it annoyed him a bit. He had to admit that your confidence and audacity turned him on like crazy.

“I love the whole bitchy attitude vibe you’ve got going on…” He admitted, moving a little closer to whisper so the other people moving around the kitchen couldn't hear. “I can’t lie... this little act is hot… Pretending you don’t find me hot but I see that little cheeky smile… I think you like the attention… And i think if I felt your panties right now… you’d be wet for me…”

He pulled back to look at you with that devilish smirk and tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear. His confidence was a little nauseating, yet, part of it turned you on. He was pretty hot, and your banter was fun and effortless.

You rolled your eyes a bit and shook your head with a little scoff.

“You know what I think?” You whispered, his eyes glued to you and your lips. “I think you’re used to getting whatever you want, whenever you want it and it’s killing you that I’m not falling all over you and begging for it…”

By the look in his eyes you could tell you’ve read him like a book. It was clear he was usually the one in control, the one who called the shots…. But your condescending tone, your attitude and the look in your eyes was so sexy it was driving him insane.

His dick twitched alive in his pants the more you told him exactly how it is. So frustrating to his ego yet so refreshing, and for the first time probably ever in his life, he felt a little speechless.

You leaned in a bit more, your faces just inches apart now. You glanced over his handsome face, soft brown hair and crystal blue eyes.

“I know what you want… but did you ever stop to think about what I want…?” You purred seductively to him, your hand coming up to touch the buttons on his expensive dress shirt.

You witnessed his neck flex as he swallowed hard, his breath growing heavier and his eyes darkening with lust.

“What do you want?” He whispered huskily, his voice dripping with need.

You smirked, thinking carefully and choosing your words for a second before you responded.

“Take me up to your room and I'll show you…”

Your sensual command had his eyes widening a bit and his hands mindlessly setting his drink down on the counter. He took your hand, not needing to be told twice. He eagerly led you through the sea of people and up the stairs to his bedroom at the end of the hall.

Shutting the door behind you and locking the rest of the world out for now, he spun around and his hands immediately wrapped around your waist until they settled on your behind, giving it a squeeze over your skirt.

You let him take control for now, giving him the illusion that he would be the one in charge during your little encounter. You wrapped your arms around his neck as his hands palmed your ass cheeks hungrily, pulling you impossibly close to him. Your bodies smashed together, putting your faces just inches apart.

Your breaths were heavy and hot on each other as he kept eye contact with you, incredibly turned on by your voice, your attitude, your body, you. Everything.

“Kiss me already…” You whispered to him and his lips immediately crashed into yours for a needy, wet kiss that had his tongue sliding against yours.

You buried your hand in his soft brown locks, giving them a little tug. He groaned into your mouth at the feeling as he continued to make out with you heavily.

Eventually, you pulled back for air, his lips were pink and his cheeks flushed from the intensity. He panted, looking at you like a puppy begging for more, a sight so perfect and oddly fitting. It gave you an idea…

“Get on the bed.” You said, your voice a little more stern than before… “And lay on your back.”

He was not the guy to listen to orders, much less from a chick he was banging, but for some reason your commanding tone and confidence had him so turned on that his usual stubbornness was outweighed by his need for you.

He flashed you that cheeky smirk, his hands dropping from around your waist as he made his way over to his bed, willing to try out your little game and see where it could lead you two. He laid down with his head against his pillows.

“You’re enjoying this a little too much… Bossing me around…” He said with a cocky smirk, watching you walk over the side of his bed.

You laughed, looking over him until your eyes settled on the rather large bulge in his khakis.

“That’s true, I am… But it looks like you are too…” You purred to him sensually, catching the way his cock twitched at your dominance, something he wasn’t used to from women.

He blushed a bit, not even trying to rebuttal your words. It was affecting him too much, he barely recognized himself at just how submissive he was feeling. He had to admit, though, he had never been this hard and desperate for a girl in his life.

His eyes flickered back to you as he watched you shimmy off your purple thong from underneath that tiny little skirt and step out of it. His heart pounded in his chest, watching you kick the thong off, his brain trying to figure out what could possible come next…

“Tell me, Rob… Do you eat pussy?” You finally dropped the bomb, making his mouth fall open in shock. Does he eat pussy? Well, he has before of course… For a minute or two… Most of his sexual encounters were geared toward him being on the receiving end and not the other way around.

His dumbfounded, surprised look at your question made you chuckle a little. He was so turned on right now he was not thinking clearly. His head felt fuzzy, trying to process the awakening you were causing him to have. He nodded after a second of collecting his thoughts.

“Yeah, of course...” He breathed out, not even trying to hide how desperate he felt at the moment.

“Good…” You said with a little cheeky smile, looking at him before getting into bed with him. Then, you stood up on the mattress, walking over to straddle his face with both your feet on either side of his head.

You watched with satisfaction as the realization of what was about to happen finally dawned on him.

“Holy shit…” He whispered to himself, unable to take his eyes off your pretty bare pussy under your tiny skirt. You looked down, catching him licking his lips in anticipation, eyes wide with desire. Slowly, you started to sink down…

Finally, you nestle all the way down to your knees, your thighs now on either side of his head and your pussy hovering just mere inches away from his mouth.

“You asked me what I wanted…” You purred, a little hint of dominance woven in your voice. “I want you to make me come with that mouth of yours, you think you’re capable of that?”

Rob was completely out of words, eyes glued to your glistening pussy and mind barely managing to process your command. He had only ever seen this in porn, and he couldn’t believe that this was his reality at the moment. He could have drooled and come in his pants at the same time at how turned on he was. The anticipation was killing him.

“Fuck yes… please…” He almost whined to you, growing more impatient and needier by the second. You giggled a little at his cute nerdy response. Who would have thought this was the same cocky asshole who prided himself in being president of his fraternity and was used to women pleasing him and never the other way around?

With that last whine of submission from him, you sank down fully onto his face. His tongue immediately delved between your folds like a dehydrated man who’d just found an oasis. He moaned against your pussy, your taste so delicious he wrapped his arms around your thighs, pulling you closer.

You moaned loudly, grabbing onto his headboard to steady yourself as he devoured you from below.

“Oh my god…” You moaned, his tongue sliding inside you with desperation, swirling around your entrance so good you saw stars in your eyelids.

He ate you like a man possessed, shaking his head back and forth and letting out muffled moans of pure, insatiable pleasure. You rolled your eyes back into your head, whimpering endlessly.

His heart hammered inside his chest like never before, nothing and nobody had ever made him feel this thirsty, this hungry. Had never been this eager to please a woman. The desperation to make your finish hard all over his face clawed at his insides.

His tongue flicked over your clit to the point of overstimulation, transforming your whimpers into full loud moans that reverberated all over his bedroom and competed with the muffled music from below.

You moaned like an absolute whore, his tongue fucking you deep. You moved your hips to grind on his face, fucking yourself on it, using his cute nose to bump against your clit, adding to your building, fast-approaching orgasm.

Rob, beneath you and letting you use his handsome face for your pleasure, found himself so painfully hard. He could feel his tip beginning to leak in his pants and ruining his expensive boxers. You smothered him with your hot, addictive pussy and made him feast on it, his hips bucked desperately in search for any kind of friction on his very needy cock.

You ignored him, forcing him to have a taste of his own medicine and focusing on your own pleasure and building orgasm only. It was evident that he was used to and expected to be the receiver in every sexual transaction he’d ever had. Not tonight, however. He was going to learn that, sometimes, you’ve gotta be the giver, not just the taker.

“Oh fuck me- I’m gonna come…” You cried out, his tongue swirling in your entrance. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you against him and moaning inaudibly into your pussy. His hips continued to buck in search of some much needed relief, the fabric of his pants helping a bit.

His brain went a thousand miles a minute as he ate your sweet pussy like it was his death row meal. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to his own orgasm as he helped you with yours, trying his absolute hardest to hold it in until after you were finished so you could help him out with his.

He flattened his tongue on your pussy, shaking his head back and forth violently, making your brain short circuit and finally sending you over the edge. Your screamed for him and held tightly onto the headboard, finishing on his hungry tongue.

Your thighs clenched around his head, squishing his handsome face and trapping him there to take everything. You arched your back and ground against him, your knuckles turning white from the iron grip on the headboard.

From underneath, Rob let out a strangled whiny moan that reverberated against the skin of your inner thighs. His hands moved to your ass cheeks, giving them a good hard squeeze. He lapped up the rest of your release desperately before you finally moved off your seat on his face.

You rolled off the bed, and he was finally free to sit up in a daze, his face flushed with the sheen of your orgasm still on his lips and chin. He panted, trying to regain his composure, pathetically cute baby blue eyes watching your pull your skirt back down.

“Holy fuck…” He whispered in disbelief to himself, trying to process what just happened. Instinctively, he looked down to the crotch of his khakis, sheepishly observing the newly formed cum stain on them, then looking back at you.

What a good boy, you thought, smirking as you looked over your handiwork. You smoothed your skirt over your ass, fixed your shirt and bent over to pick up your discarded thong off his floor, tossing it to his lap.

“Listen…” You started, watching his still bewildered eyes finding yours, obviously still trying to process everything. “I’ve gotta go but… Thanks for the head…” You said with a devilish little smirk that made his heartbeat speed up.

“W-wait…” He scrambled. “Could I get your number?” He asked almost pathetically, a huge change to his cocky confidence he approached you with earlier in the night.

“I’ll see you around, Robert…” You ignored his request, flashing him one last cheeky smile and sauntering over to his bedroom door, slipping out to rejoin the rowdy party still very much alive downstairs.

Robert sat there dumbfounded, trying to contemplate the last half an hour you just had together as you disappeared out the door so sexy and nonchalant. His face was still glistening with your essence and his boxers were soaked in his own cum.

This had been a first for him, it was him who always left the girl hanging after sex, him who ghosted and dipped, the one who didn’t catch feelings, never the other way around… Until his karma finally came around today.

He sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair and letting out a scoff of a laugh to himself, realizing that he had just gotten outplayed at his own game. He wasn’t really sure whether to be annoyed or impressed, or maybe a bit of both…

Either way, he had gotten a taste of something totally different to his usual.

And he was completely hooked.

Pinterest moodboard by @fuckiingloser

[thedevilworkshardnheskickngmyass]

on the clock

pairings: werewolf!CEO!Bucky Barnes x human!assistant!female reader

summary: feeling unfulfilled by your job, you sign up to become a member of the Pleasure Portal network, which allows you to have sex with monsters around the world for money. then, when you connect with an anonymous monster on a boring summer day at the office, it leads to an afternoon delight—and something more.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, unspecified age gap, monsterfucking and teratophilia, werewolf/human sex, knotting, sex work/reader becomes a sex worker, portal sex, piv sex, very rough sex, unprotected sex, anonymous sex, multiple creampies, come inflation, cockwarming, orgasm control/delay, multiple orgasms, big cock, size kink, free use, some objectification, dirty talk, sexting, praise kink, light verbal degradation, bdsm undertones, sir kink, pet names (sweetling, sweet girl), aftercare, feelings

word count: 10.2k

a/n: for week 12 of @buckybarnesevents's Hot Bucky Summer event, i had a pretty good idea of the premise for this fic (and it's based loosely on this post) but i had y'all vote to help decide some of the specifics, like Bucky being a werewolf. since the other two options were so close, i worked them both in 🤭 this ended up being way longer than i expected, but i'm really excited about this particular magical universe, and i hope y'all love it as much as i do!! please enjoy some werewolf CEO Bucky!!! ♡

prompt: "You can’t be real." | [Fantasy Character | Monsterfucking | Dreaming/Daydreaming]

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

You didn’t need the money. Not really. 

All your bills were easily covered by your job. You worked 60 hours a week as the senior executive assistant to Bucky Barnes, who, in his early 40s, was the first werewolf to ever become CEO of a Fortune 500 company. 

The role paid well enough that you’d been able to buy your dream apartment in Park Slope, Brooklyn, and still have money leftover for savings and fun things like vacations and going out to brunch. 

So you really didn’t need any extra money from a side hustle, because your career was plenty lucrative. But, frankly, your job as Bucky Barnes’ senior EA was boring.

Over the course of your career, you’d worked hard to rise up the ranks of assistants, taking on new roles at different companies until you’d made it to the top of the ladder. But you found yourself in the odd position of having nowhere else to go, and little to do. 

As Mr. Barnes’ senior EA, your job was to oversee the rest of the CEO’s assistants. At any given time, he had half a dozen, all of whom managed his schedule, fetched his dry-cleaning, and did everything else the busy werewolf didn’t have time to do.

However, after the brief transition period when you first stepped into your role and made some changes so that the fleet of assistants ran more efficiently, and everything was delegated to the others, there was little left for you to do.

All that was expected of you was to sit at your desk in the sparsely decorated antechamber outside Mr. Barnes’ office, with its towering, thick wooden doors that were often closed, leaving you entirely alone. Occasionally, you’d have to greet any visitors who’d arrive for an in-person meeting, but that was rare.

Most days, no one came to Mr. Barnes’ office, since the werewolf preferred virtual meetings and phone calls to in-person sit-downs. So you spent long, arduous days alone at your desk while your boss worked and the fleet of assistants scurried around doing his bidding, which was relayed through you.

It left you with a lot of free time—free time that you spent trying to keep busy, and trying not to daydream about your handsome werewolf boss. 

It had been against your better judgement that your foolish heart had caught feelings for Bucky Barnes, but it turned out you had a soft spot for werewolves with icy blue eyes, sharp canine teeth, and expensive suits. It didn’t help that he had a dry sense of humor and a brusque, no-nonsense way of conducting business that you respected.

Still, you maintained a professional demeanor at work, not allowing your feelings for your boss to show when you greeted him in the morning or spoke to him about his schedule. But if you were honest with yourself, your little crush on the werewolf was the reason you didn’t look for another job.

You’d fallen into a routine of monotony, broken up only by the brief, thrilling moments when you interacted with Bucky Barnes. You didn’t even realize you were looking for something to escape the vicious circle your life had become until it was right in front of your face.

It was on one particularly dreary afternoon when you took the first step down a path that would change everything. 

Cold rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the antechamber outside Mr. Barnes’ office, obscuring the view of New York City’s Central Park that lay at the feet of the company’s high-rise in Manhattan. You felt like a princess trapped in a tower, held above and apart from the rest of the world, bitterly alone. 

To remind yourself that you weren’t the last person in the world, living among the gray clouds, you found yourself scrolling through your social media feed, eagerly watching the little windows into other peoples’ lives. 

It was then that you came across a video from a woman who made her living as a “spicy accountant.” Unlike some of the others you’d seen on the app, though, she made her money through something called Pleasure Portal. 

You watched in rapt attention as the woman in the video explained what it was—a network created by the company’s warlock CEO using proprietary portal technology that connected those with willing holes with clients willing to pay to use those holes, even if they were entire continents apart. 

According to the woman, all transactions were completely anonymous and conducted through the app, though there were options for leaving tips and favorable reviews. To ensure everyone’s safety, there was an application process that included health and background checks verified by the Pleasure Portal company. 

And the best part, at least to you, was that it was open to everyone—human and monsters alike.

That had been the most enticing selling point for you, because even if you didn’t need the money, Pleasure Portal offered a safe and anonymous way for you to explore what it would be like to be with a monster, something you’d only ever fantasized about before.

Although you’d developed a crush on him, Bucky Barnes wasn’t the first monster you’d daydreamed about. 

Over the years, you’d wondered endlessly about what it would feel like to be split open by a minotaur, to be put under a lust spell by a warlock, to be tied so intimately by a werewolf’s knot…

You’d been breathless with excitement as you applied to be part of the Pleasure Portal network right then, on that dreary afternoon. You kept oscillating between feeling like it was a dream, too good to be true, and giddy excitement as you filed your paperwork, and gave proof that you tested negative for STIs and were on birth control.

It took surprisingly little time to be approved, the app on your phone unlocking your profile while you were sent the portal device.

As soon as you got the notification that the package had been delivered, in the middle of the afternoon on a hot, summer day, you left your desk, giving Mr. Barnes a ridiculous excuse about needing to go home early to feed your neighbor’s cat. 

Once at you made it back to your apartment in Park Slope, you tore into the box with as much care as you could muster, your eyes widening and lips parting with wonder when you finally got your hands on the portal device.

It was as small as a matchbook and, according to the instructions, should be affixed to your skin above, below or beside the hole you wished to connect to the network. The magic in the device could then be activated only from your app, which required face ID, and it could be shut off using the app or by voicing the safe word you registered with the service.

The app was how you connected with potential Pleasure Patrons, filling out your profile with interests and limits, and setting yourself as available whenever you were open to clients. Anyone looking to use your services as a Pleasure Pocket could send a request, and you had the option to approve or deny based on their profile, which revealed their first name, age and species, and how much money they were offering. 

Although you were almost too excited to read through all the instructions on the portal device and fill out your profile, you forced yourself to pay attention and get through it as quickly and methodically as possible so you could finally get started.

It wasn’t long before you were attaching the device to your mound, just above your pussy, and setting yourself as available on the app. Your profile specified that you were particularly open to monsters—and you were delighted to discover they were all too eager to use your services.

From that night on, you became an active Pleasure Pocket on the Pleasure Portal network. 

At first, you consigned yourself to only using it when you were at home, letting monsters from all over the world rail you while you made dinner or took a shower or lay on your couch watching TV. But work was so boring, and you really didn’t have much to do, so what was the harm in wearing it to the office?

It was breathlessly thrilling to wear the Pleasure Portal device at your desk, alone in the antechamber outside Mr. Barnes’ office, feeling all manner of monster cock fill you while you were on the clock. It got to a point where even if you weren’t stuffed full of cock, you were daydreaming about it. Your idle thoughts constantly wandered back to your favorite Patrons.

The day everything truly changed, was a day like any other.

It was a beautiful sunny afternoon in New York City, the golden summer sun glinting off buildings and giving you a perfect view of Central Park with all its gorgeous green foliage. And it was another boring day at your desk, with nothing for you to do since the assistants were self-sufficient and Bucky was busy behind his closed office doors. 

At that point, you’d been part of the Pleasure Portal network for a few months, and your mind kept straying back to one of your recent clients, a minotaur that had used you the previous week. 

Your fingers toyed idly with the buttons of your silk blouse, which was tucked into a tight black pencil skirt. You bit your lip as you remembered the feeling of the minotaur’s impressive length filling you up for hours one morning, his stamina lasting for what seemed like an eon.

He’d used you for so long, and fucked you so relentlessly, you’d nearly passed out at your desk. It had been glorious.

Once he was done with you, the minotaur had left you a generous tip “for monopolizing your morning,” as well as a favorable review: “5/5 stars, tightest pussy I’ve had in a long time. Would fuck again.”

It was the last part of his review that still stuck with you a week later, and had you daydreaming that he would, in fact, fuck you again. You didn’t often accept repeat clients, but for the minotaur, you’d make an exception. He’d pleasured you well enough that you could see yourself enjoying another session with him.

Unbidden, your thoughts veered sharply away from your minotaur client. Instead, icy blue eyes, sharp canine teeth, and a broad chest clad in an expensive suit flashed through your mind. You tried desperately to halt your thoughts before they could venture further down that path, but your imagination couldn’t be stopped.

Your fantasy shifted, and before you could rein in your mind, you were thinking about being stretched open on a thick werewolf cock while you sat in your boss’s lap. The base of his length, where his knot would inflate, would nudge against your clit and remind you that once he came, you’d be unable to separate. 

Your bodies would be tied together in such an intimate way that couldn’t be ignored. You’d be connected in the most primal, physical way possible…

With a sigh, you blinked the tantalizing image from your mind and returned your focus to the gorgeous sight of the summer sun shining brightly down on New York City, glinting off the water of the lake in Central Park and shimmering off the windows of the other skyscrapers in midtown Manhattan. 

You willed your heart to slow and your breathing to even out in an effort to temper the heat that had begun building in your core. When your fantasy had shifted to Bucky, your slit had flooded with desire, and you could feel the sticky evidence in your panties when you crossed one leg over the other. 

Truthfully, you’d hoped that joining the Pleasure Portal network would distract you from your crush on your boss, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Letting all manner of monsters use your hole was fun, but it was all anonymous, and it lacked the true connection you thought you could only find in real life. 

And, to be perfectly honest, you weren’t interested in finding a true connection with anyone other than Bucky. Even the minotaur from the previous week paled in comparison to your boss. Though he’d been a good lover and had tipped well, you didn’t want anything more from him than a few more orgasms. 

You were, unfortunately, still hung up on the older werewolf CEO with the icy blue eyes that sent shivers down your spine and the devastatingly handsome face. You wanted the monster who sat in his office just a few dozen feet away from your desk, but might as well have been a whole world away with the thick wooden doors and his inability to see you as anything more than his EA.

A soft chime from your phone pulled you from that train of thought and you picked up the device. A small smile stole across your face when you saw a Pleasure Portal notification: A new Patron was requesting a session!

Eager for something to distract you from your thoughts of Bucky Barnes, you quickly opened up the app and scanned the request.

James, 42, werewolf, was asking for an immediate session, and he was willing to pay an exorbitant amount of money—so much that even your eyes widened at the number of zeros. It was more than you made in an entire week as a senior EA, and all for a few hours of being this monster’s Pleasure Pocket. 

Still, you couldn’t lie and tell yourself the money was really what swayed you. It was this potential client’s profile, particularly the part where he noted he was a werewolf. 

After daydreaming about Bucky, you were feeling more than a little needy. And even though fucking this werewolf named James wouldn’t be the same as finally getting the attention you desired from your boss, you couldn’t deny yourself. You wanted a knot, and if you couldn’t have the one you really wanted, you’d take anything you could get.

So, without any more thought, you hit the button on the app that accepted James’s offer.

As soon as the Pleasure Portal app registered your acceptance, you felt the device hum to life on the mound of your pussy. Delightful tingles erupted in a circle around your hole, the magical current of the portal coming to life and teasing your skin.

You gave a little shiver of anticipation as you leaned back in your expensive, ergonomic desk chair. You closed your eyes, and waited for James to begin using his side of the open portal, arousal already gathering between your thighs as you thought about being used by the anonymous Patron.

Less than a minute later, you felt the pointed tip of the werewolf’s cock nudging carefully against your entrance. The first feel of him made your breath catch in your throat.

James felt big, even just the tip of him spreading your lower lips as he pushed against your entrance. He seemed to be taking it slow, testing out your readiness, being careful not to hurt you with one rough thrust.

When you realized how big he was and the care he was taking with you, your pussy flooded with arousal. It was enough to make your hole slick and ready for his massive cock.

It occurred to you that James might be the biggest monster you’d ever taken, and you were eager to find out if you were right about that. In your chest, your heart raced, but the rest of you remained still as you waited with a breathless excitement for James to feed you more of his cock.

Your prediction was confirmed a moment later when James pressed deeper, the narrow tip of his cock giving way to a thick girth that had you gasping for air and clutching the edge of your desk. Your nails dug into the unyielding wood as your pussy clamped down hard on the werewolf’s penetrating length. 

A soft chime came from your phone, and you picked it up to find James had sent a text through Pleasure Portal’s in-app messaging system. Some clients tried to use it for dirty talk, but more often than not, their attempts at seducing you with words had the opposite effect so you usually ignored them. 

However, James’s message was different. 

Fuck, you’re tight. Even for a human. 

The werewolf sounded grumpy, almost resentful of your pussy, like he could barely believe anyone, even a human, could be so tight. It was a far cry from the effusive flattery most other Patrons tried to woo you with, but the honesty of it charmed you. 

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, and your thumbs moved quickly as you typed out a response that you hoped would elicit more delightful grumpiness from the older werewolf. 

Fucked many humans, have you?

The self-satisfied grin on your face slipped when James pushed further into your hole, your mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ and your eyes going wide as your body stretched to accomodate his monster cock. 

He was so big and overwhelming, the velvet-wrapped steel of his girth rubbing deliciously against your inner walls while he pressed deeper, that you momentarily forgot about your phone and it fell with a dull thunk to your desk.

When he was still only partway inside your pussy, James paused, as if giving you time to adjust—and giving himself a moment to send an answer to your question. 

My fair share. How many werewolves have you had?

Picking up your phone to read the message, you huffed a dry laugh at James’s blunt question. It wasn’t really his business—though he must’ve seen on your profile that you had a few positive reviews from past werewolf Patrons—but you found you didn’t mind the intrusive question.

For some reason, you felt a connection to James that had always been lacking in your previous clients, werewolf and other monsters alike. You knew it was likely just because he reminded you of the boss you were crushing on and would never have, but you couldn’t help indulging yourself and gave James an honest response.

A few. None as big as you, though.

The werewolf must’ve shunted his hips forward, burying his cock impossibly deeper in your pussy. The sudden surge of pleasure made you forget yourself, and a desperate squeal slipped from your lips before you could clap a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound.

God, he was so big, the stretch of him burning pleasantly through your core. Your pussy throbbed around the thick girth of his shaft, which was buried so deep, you swore you could feel him in your belly. Pressing a palm to your lower stomach, you stared down at your lap in awe when you could feel the thick steel of him inside your body even while you sat alone in your desk chair. 

The magic of the Pleasure Portal was wild—and you loved it. 

You loved sitting at your desk, in your office above the clouds, stuffed full of werewolf cock where anyone could walk in—where even Bucky could walk in—and talk to you like nothing was out of the ordinary. He’d never know you were full of cock, unless your face gave you away.

That thought made your pussy drip around James’s thick cock, making the slide of his hard length easier as he slipped even deeper. Your moan at the feeling was muffled behind the palm of your hand and you bent over, letting your forehead fall against the cool wood of your desk while you basked in the sensation of being filled so deliciously. 

Even with your thighs trapped tight together by your pencil skirt, the new position opened your body up, and made it easier for James to hilt his monstrous cock in your tight hole. In seconds, he was buried to the base, filling you up more than you even thought possible.

It was all you could do to stifle your blissed-out moans and desperate whimpers in your hand, not wanting to draw your boss’s attention and end your exquisite torment as you writhed in pleasure on James’s cock.

I’m sure you say that to all the monsters on this app.

It took a moment for you to wade through the haze filling your head and grab your phone to read James’s message. 

When you did, you let out an unladylike snort. It was so perfectly grumpy that it made you want to be playful with the older werewolf, an urge you didn’t often care enough about your Patrons to muster.

Gotta earn those tips somehow 🤪

James must’ve let out a low growl at that response, because you could feel the vibration reverberate through his cock where it was buried inside you. 

A soft, pitiful mewl slipped from your lips, and you dropped your head back to your desk with a thunk, your eyes sliding closed as overwhelming pleasure washed through you. 

You’re trouble.

The chime of your phone had you lifting your head back up, your eyes popping open, and you couldn’t bite back the smile at the warm grumpiness of James’s response. 

Something about those two words had your heart doing flips in your chest and the long-dormant butterflies in your stomach taking flight. 

Your inner walls were stretched so perfectly around his hard length, you could practically feel the thrum of his blood pumping in his shaft, and he could feel every throb of your pussy. Your pussy fluttered around the werewolf’s thick cock, and you could feel him twitch in reply. 

It was as if your bodies were conversing in a language all their own.

It was so intimate, the physical connection between you and this anonymous werewolf named James, that you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering to your boss. You wondered if he would be as big, if he’d fill you up as good—if you’d be able to feel every vein and ridge in his cock. 

You wondered if Bucky would be able to make you smile and laugh the way James had. 

And as soon as you had that thought, you realized how unfair you were being to James. It wasn’t his fault you couldn’t get over this ridiculous crush on your boss, and you started to feel bad for thinking about another monster while he was inside you.

So you pushed all thoughts of Bucky aside and refocused on James, picking up your phone to type out another playful response, hoping to get another grumpy reply.

Trouble with a tight pussy, though, right? 😉

Yeah, sweetling, you’ve got a very tight pussy. Feels like you’re strangling my dick.

You huffed a laugh at the vaguely violent description of your pussy, enjoying the blunt way the grumpy werewolf spoke. And if your heart fluttered even more at the sweet nickname and naked praise in James’s message, you ignored the blossoming emotion in your chest. 

The only thing worse than harboring a crush on your unattainable boss was developing a crush on one of your anonymous Pleasure Patrons. That way lay only heartbreak, of that you were certain. So you tried to rein in the feelings developing in your heart.

When you tried to type out another playful message and remain detached, though, your fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, sending a text that was perhaps a little too honest. 

Thank you, sir ☺️ I want to please you.

James’s cock jumped inside you, drawing a low, obscene moan from your lips before you could bite it back, your eyes going hazy as pleasure throbbed through your body. 

Distractedly, you wondered which part of your message had elicited that response from James—whether it was you calling him ‘sir’ or your honest desire to please him. Or perhaps it was both.

Before you could muster up the courage to ask, his next message came through, and your mouth curved into a pleased smile when it answered your unspoken questions.

Keep calling me that and you’ll earn a very generous tip, sweetling. 

A pleased smile bloomed across your face as you read James’s message. You tried to tell yourself it was in response to the prospect of the tip he was offering, and not the sweet nickname, but you weren’t fooling yourself. 

You tried to think of a more playful, detached response, but before you could come up with anything, another message came in.

I have a call soon, I just need some quick stress relief beforehand, but I’ll double your tip every time you cum on my cock.

You breathed a sigh of relief before you could stop yourself, happy to have a break from your flirty exchange with the werewolf to talk about the logistics of your session. Still, you couldn’t stop your pussy from fluttering around James’s cock at his blunt, filthy words. 

He filled you so well, it was almost hard to think, and you blamed your needy distraction for the almost desperate tone of the response you sent him. 

Use me, sir, and I’ll do my best to take it 🫡 That’s what I’m here for.

James didn’t need any more encouragement than that. You could feel the way he groaned at your words, the low rumbling of pleasure reverberating through your sensitive inner walls, and making you gush with even more wetness, like your pussy was drooling for the werewolf cock stuffed deep in your hole to fuck you.

Then he was doing just that, using his side of the Pleasure Portal to fuck you hard and fast, pounding into your pussy like you were nothing more than a fleshlight made solely for his pleasure. It was brutal, ruthless, perfect, the way his cock filled your tight hole, the pointed tip bullying your cervix with every merciless thrust.

All you could do was take it, pleasure swarming through your body and overwhelming your mind, until you were little more than the werewolf’s toy, your body hunched at your desk, your face buried in the crook of your arm to muffle your sounds of enjoyment while you took everything he offered. 

Your inner walls were stretched thin around James’s cock, and though the drag of his thick girth felt devastatingly good, it wasn’t enough to make you cum. With trembling fingers, you slipped your hand beneath your pencil skirt, not caring how high up your thighs you pushed the material, just intent about reaching the juncture of your thighs.

It took only a brief brush of your fingers against your clothed clit to set you off. 

Your mouth fell open and you pressed your blunt teeth into your arm through the silk of your blouse, a high-pitched whine falling from your lips as the pleasure in your body exploded and you were carried away in the relentless rhythm of James’s cock pounding into your cunt.

Your panting breath was loud in your ears, but you could’ve sworn you heard a faint groan as your pussy milked the werewolf’s cock, your inner walls clamping down so hard on his thick length, you felt him twitch deep inside you. 

But you brushed off the sound as a figment of your imagination. It must’ve been your mind playing tricks on you, born of a desire to hear your partner when you were alone in your pleasure, with only your gasps and moans as company. You ached to press against James’s sturdy body, to hear his voice, to feel more than his cock…

Thankfully, a soft chime from your phone dragged you back from the sudden rush of loneliness that filled your heart and threatened to consume all your enjoyment like a black hole. 

Good girl. Cum on this fat werewolf cock like the perfect little slut you are, sweetling.

“Oh fuck,” you whispered to yourself, your eyes sliding closed as another shiver of pleasure skated down your spine at his words and his pumping cock. Already, tension was coiling tight in your core again, and you were rocketing toward another release.

You’d never gotten off to the dirty talk your Patrons had sent in the past, but James’s words did something to you no other monster had managed—they made your pussy gush and flutter. They made you moan, the sounds low and lewd as they bounced off the bare walls of the office antechamber. 

James’s message was the ideal mix of praise and degradation. It tapped into your desires so perfectly, you wondered distractedly if he was also a wizard or a mind-reader. 

And then you realized he hadn’t stopped his ruthless pounding even when he’d been texting you, which meant he was fucking his half of the portal with one hand while typing his filthy messages to you with the other.

It all unraveled something in you, and you scrabbled for your phone on the desk, your fingers clumsy and trembling as you typed out a response, desperate for James to know what he was doing to you. You wanted him to know how good he was making you feel. 

You feel so so good inside my tight cunt, sir. Your fat werewolf cock is splitting me open, breaking me apart. Feels sooo good. 

The act of typing out those words made the tension in your body wind tighter, and just as you hit send, you realized you were on the precipice of another release. Quickly, you sent another message without waiting for a response. 

I’m gonna cum again.

Your fingers, which you’d pulled from beneath your skirt so you could text with two hands, slipped back beneath the tight fabric. They squirmed between your plush thighs, which were already pushing the pencil skirt’s seams to they’re limits, and tugged your panties to the side to rub your clit. 

You were careening toward your second release in just a few seconds, your breaths coming in sharp, desperate pants, and your heart pounding in your chest. You could even hear the faint, obscene wet sound of James’s cock pounding into your gushing pussy. 

But all of it fell away when you heard the chime of another message.

Rub your pretty pearl, sweetling, and cum again on this thick werewolf cock. Show me what a good slut you can be for me, use that tight cunt to milk my fat cock. 

Obediently, your fingertips pressed harder to your clit and you rubbed it roughly, matching the rhythm of James’s fucking, until you were shoved over the edge again. Your entire body seized, every muscle in your body going taut, as the tension in your core wound tight and then, suddenly, snapped. 

Dropping your phone to your desk, you shoved half your fist in your mouth to muffle the high-pitched scream that clawed up your throat and wanted to burst free. 

You couldn’t tell how much noise you were making, but you hoped it wasn’t enough to get Bucky’s attention, because you were lost to the bliss James offered. You were a hopeless, pitiful puddle of pleasure in your ergonomic chair—and you never wanted it to end.

While you were in the throes of your release, you thought you heard another groan, deeper and filthier than the one earlier, a sound that matched the way James’s cock kicked deep in your cunt, like he was on the verge of losing himself in your body. 

But that thought drifted away in the current of pleasure that was carrying you along, dissolving as soon as it had appeared, leaving you to revel in your release. 

Distantly, you heard your phone go off, and you reached for it blindly, gasping for breath as you struggled to open your eyes and read the text.

That’s a good girl, cumming so perfectly for me. You have such a slutty hole, sweetling, cumming all over my werewolf cock and clutching at me like you’re begging for more. Do you want another one, my sweet girl?

A soft, sharp whine slipped from your lips and you had to bite down hard on your plush lower lip to stifle the sound. Even still, it ricocheted off the bare walls in the antechamber, and you hoped the thick wood of Bucky’s office doors muffled it. 

But you barely paid your boss any mind, fingers trembling with need and excitement as you typed out a response to James with one hand.

Yes, please, sir. Please make me cum again, I wanna cum all over your big werewolf cock. You fill me up so so good. I wanna bounce on your huge, perfect cock and take every inch of your fat knot, sir. Please!

James’s reply came back so quickly, even you were stunned with how fast it appeared. All he said was: 

Fuck. You can’t be real.

You had little time to marvel over those words, and the way they made your heart flutter dangerously in your chest, because in the next breath James was pounding into you even harder. 

He used your cunt as his own personal pleasure portal, fucking you like you were the stress relief he deserved, shoving his entire length deep inside your pussy. The narrow tip of his cock battered against your cervix, pushing into it a little more each time, giving every thrust a sharp edge of pain that made the pleasure even more exquisitely devastating.

It was all too good, too perfect, your mind splintering as the world around you fell away entirely. You were no longer the senior EA to werewolf CEO Bucky Barnes, you were a Pleasure Pocket made to be used by every manner of monster for their pleasure. 

No, not just any monster—you were made specifically for James, 42, werewolf. You were his personal sex toy, his pocket pussy, his fuck hole. And all you could do was take it—take his cock, take the brutal pounding he offered, and the bliss that came with it, and let him take his pleasure in your body.

You imagined James on the other end of the magical portal, holding the cylindrical fleshlight-like device in his big hands and yanking it down on his impossibly thick cock. You pictured him fucking the portal toy—and, by extension, your cunt—with everything he had, sweat beading on his face, the muscles in his broad body shifting beneath his fur and skin.

Before you could stop it, the image in your mind shifted, the generic figure of a werewolf morphing into something more familiar, something resembling the daydream you’d had earlier. 

In your mind’s eye, James became Bucky. 

You could so easily picture the way Bucky’s bright blue eyes would flash with hunger and darken with lust as he pounded into your tight cunt, the emotions churning like the sky during a summer thunderstorm. 

It was far too easy to imagine the way his sharp canine teeth would glint in the lights of the office as he bore down on your body, his expensive suit only undone enough to free his cock, the gush of your pussy making a mess of the front of his slacks as he split you open with every thrust.

His inhuman muscles would strain the seams of his suit, making them cling to the bulge of his biceps and the flexing of his thighs as he fucked you on his desk. You’d be entirely at his mercy, which was exactly where you wanted to be more than anywhere else in the world—even with James.

A pang in your chest dragged you out of your fantasy, and you remembered the werewolf who was actually fucking you. You felt a little bit bad for daydreaming about Bucky when you were with James, especially since the latter had quickly become your favorite Patron. But, you reasoned, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

So you sank deeper into your daydream about your boss, imagining it was Bucky fucking you instead of some random stranger on the other end of the Pleasure Portal. 

The combination of James’s perfect cock and your imagination’s perfect picture of Bucky was too much for your mind and body to take. The werewolf was fucking you too hard and too fast, and you were breathless from the pleasure, unable to stop yourself from speeding toward a devastating release. 

You held on for as long as you could, but James seemed intent on making you cum again before his call began. And the werewolf confirmed as much when your phone chimed with another message.

Do it. Cum on my cock, sweetling. Be a good girl and give it to me so I can fill you up with my knot and stuff your tight pussy full of cum. Then you can sit pretty on my fat werewolf cock like a perfect little knot slut while I take this call.

Those filthy words were all you needed to push you over the edge. 

A breathy, high-pitched cry escaped your lips before you could stop it, but you were too far gone to care. Pleasure overwhelmed you, blackness creeping into the edge of your consciousness as your body shivered and shook with the force of your release.

All the while, your pussy was clamped down on James’s thick cock as he kept fucking you, like your body was begging for his cum. His hard length vibrated with a groan you could’ve sworn you could hear. You swayed perilously in your chair, your eyes closed and your entire being focused on the cock bringing you so much pleasure.

The werewolf lasted only a few more moments, his thrusts turning wild and erratic as he rutted into your too-tight cunt. Then he was shoving his cock deep in your hole, his knot inflating and stretching the edge of your hole a second before his big cock twitched inside you, spilling his cum in your plugged pussy.

Your breath caught in your throat at the sudden stretch of James’s knot, and though there was a brief moment when you worried he might be too big for you to take, your body was loose and relaxed enough from your three orgasms that it adjusted. You were left with a feeling of being blissfully full.

It felt so good, in fact, that you leaned back in your chair with a sigh of contentment. Your fingers trapped between your thighs stroked your clit and your pussy pulsed with one more release. 

Pleasure shivered down your spine as you came again, and your inner walls fluttered weakly around James’s cock, sucking him deeper while his shaft throbbed and he filled you with cum.

Did you just cum for a fourth time, just on my knot?

You dragged your hand from beneath your skirt to grab your phone when it chimed. A sated smile curled the corners of your lips as you read James’s message, your pussy fluttering with happiness. 

The smile bloomed into a full-blown grin when you typed out your response, going for playful but ending up sending something entirely too honest. Again.

Yes, sir 🥴 I wouldn’t have thought of myself as a knot slut, but I think you’ve converted me. 

Haha

James’s dry response had a pleased sense of pride filling your chest. It was the first time he’d shown any kind of emotion outside of his dirty talk, and your heart squeezed, even as you told yourself nothing good could come of the little crush you were developing on your Pleasure Portal client. 

Before you could spiral about how you felt about James, though, another text from the werewolf came through your phone. 

Time for you to rest, sweetling. Be a good girl and keep my cock warm while I take this call. If you’re patient, I’ll use you again and double your tip.

You smiled at James’s message. Of course you could be patient and good, especially for him. You shifted in your seat, trying to get comfortable and accustomed to the feeling of fullness in your core.

It was a little strange, the feeling of James’s thick cock and full knot inside you, mainly because you were still alone at your desk, high above the New York City skyline, but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, you thought you might be able to get very used to sitting on a werewolf’s knot, and even enjoy it very much. 

But you would’ve rather been able to do so in the presence of the werewolf whose knot you were tied to.

A pang of loneliness pierced your heart, and you thought of the werewolf whose knot you really wanted to be tied to, but you quickly pushed it away. Instead of thinking about your boss, you focused on the throbbing pulse between your thighs where you were tied to the anonymous werewolf.

Thank you, sir. Knock ‘em dead 😘

As soon as you sent the message, you wanted to take it back. Blowing a kiss felt too…romantic, too intimate for a Pleasure Pocket and their Patron. But the little note had already popped up confirming James had seen it. He didn’t respond, though, and you had to assume his call had started.

You tried to distract yourself by checking on your own work. 

The fleet of assistants were all busy with their tasks, and according to Bucky’s schedule, he was in a meeting for the next couple hours. 

It was a relief to know your boss wouldn’t be interrupting your session with James, and you wondered distractedly if they might happen to be on the same call. But then you snorted and shook your head at the ridiculous thought. Not every werewolf knew each other, you chastised yourself, and it was small-minded to think otherwise.

It was just a coincidence that James was in a call at the same time that Bucky was in a virtual meeting. 

Satisfied that there wasn’t any work to be done, you got comfortable in your chair, and closed your eyes against the bright summer sun filtering in through the windows of the antechamber. You allowed your mind to drift and daydream to your heart’s content.

You wondered what James looked like—what color his eyes were; what shape his canine teeth were, if he left them sharp or had filed them to be blunter and more socially acceptable. You wondered if he was broad-shouldered, like Bucky, or lithe and slim like other werewolves you’d seen.

All the while, you tried to ignore the building restlessness in your body. 

You should’ve been plenty sated after James gave you four orgasms in such a short period of time, but the constant fullness of his cock in your cunt and his knot stretching the rim of your hole was enough to make you needy again.

Still, you remembered James’s last command, and you did your best to sit still, be patient and not bother him. It wasn’t that you cared much about the tip he’d offered, you just wanted to be good for him. 

After a while, James’s knot deflated enough that he could’ve pulled free and ended the sessions, but he kept his cock lodged inside you. His cum was slowly seeping out around his thick girth, soaking your panties and creating a sticky mess between your thighs. 

Unfortunately, that only turned you on more, your renewed desire mixing with the copious amount of James’s cum, and it wasn’t long before you couldn’t stop squirming in your seat. Unable to stop yourself, you slid a hand beneath your skirt, already bunched up around your thighs, and rubbed your clit teasingly.

The touch was enough to make your pussy pulse around James’s cock, and you felt his thick length kick in response. He’d softened a little since unloading his cum in your pussy, but you felt him start to harden again.

A second later, your phone chimed. 

Sweetling.

A shiver of desire slid down your spine at the warning in James’s tone, even through text. 

You knew the message was meant to stop you from distracting him during his call, but you couldn’t help yourself. You stroked your clit, delighting in the feeling of your pussy throbbing and his cock twitching deep in your tight hole, growing to fill you again. 

With one hand, you typed out a reply.

I tried to be good, sir, but I’m just a silly knot slut who needs you to fill me up with your fat werewolf cock again until you’re pumping my tight cunt full of your cum and tying me to your cock with your knot 🤪

James’s response came back a few seconds later.

I knew you’d be trouble.

You gave a soft snort at his words, and though it was difficult to discern someone’s tone over text, you got the impression James’s comment was said with warmth. 

Before you could analyze it any more, the werewolf’s cock began to move inside you. He fucked you in slow, shallow strokes that gave you only a fraction of the friction you needed to get close to cumming again. 

You expected him to pick up speed, but he went on like that for long, torturous minutes, until a pitiful whine was building in the back of your throat and you were scrabbling for your phone. 

In just a few minutes, James had reduced you to a desperate mess, your hips squirming restlessly in your chair, your body uselessly trying to fuck yourself on his cock.

Please, sir. Please fuck me, use my tight pussy to make your cock feel good. You’re tormenting me. I can’t get off like this. Please!

Writhing in your chair, you unbuttoned your blouse down to your bra, brazenly groping your tits and plucking at your nipples while you tried to give yourself the stimulation James seemed determined to withhold.

His next reply seemed to take forever. 

Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you decided to be a naughty knot slut instead of a good, patient girl like I asked.

A frustrated sound wrenched free from your lips and you abandoned your tits to drop your hand between your thighs. You rubbed your clit madly, intent on eking out a release despite James’s torture. 

James must’ve felt the way your pussy spasmed and fluttered around his cock as your pleasure ramped up, because another message came through.

If you cum, you won’t get any of the tip you’ve earned.

Your mouth twisted in a snarl and you rolled your eyes. Of course every man or monster using Pleasure Portal assumed you could be controlled with money. They all assumed that was the only thing you were after. 

You’d never been more grateful for Mr. Barnes’ generous salary than in that moment, because it meant you could care more about your release than James’s threat.

You kept rubbing your clit, rocking your hips on your seat until the ergonomic chair began to squeak. You were desperately clawing your way to the peak of your pleasure, and though you could already tell it wouldn’t be anywhere near the heights you’d reached earlier with James, it would at least take the edge off. 

But then the werewolf’s next message made your fingers go still. 

If you cum, I won’t use your pussy again. 

Your whole body shuddered in protest at the idea of not feeling James’s cock pounding into your cunt again, and a tiny growl slipped from your lips. 

It took a great deal of effort, but you pulled your hand from between your thighs and typed out a reply.

Fine.

You couldn’t help but tack on another message, anger, desire and frustration swirling through your body and making you feel far too comfortable with your client.

You’re a mean werewolf.

Faint vibrations reverberated through James’s cock and you thought he’d chuckled at your message, though you couldn’t be sure. Even more frustration surged, and for the first time since you started using the Pleasure Portal, you wished you were actually with your client. 

You wanted to see James’s reactions, you wanted to hear his voice and feel his strong body beneath yours while his cock filled you up…

That’s ‘You’re a mean werewolf, sir’ to you. 

James’s message brought your attention back to him and, despite yourself, you giggled at his ridiculous joke. Some of the frustration had drained from you as you eased back from the edge of your release, and you were ready to forgive him. 

But before you could, he sent another text.

Don’t worry, sweetling, my call’s almost over. Then I’ll use you the way you want. 

With a happy grin, you settled back into your chair and waited patiently, keeping the werewolf’s cock nice and warm in your dripping pussy. You kept your thoughts on easy things like your plans for the next weekend as you watched the sun slowly descend on New York City, the shadows growing long as they stretched across Central Park.

True to his word, James’s call ended not too long after his last message. You knew the moment it was over because he started fucking you hard and fast again, so suddenly you cried out, careless about whether your boss could overhear you. 

Thankfully, those thick wooden doors to Bucky’s office must’ve swallowed the sounds you made. You shoved your hand under your skirt, rubbing your clit, desperate to reach the crescendo he’d denied you during his call. 

Cum on my cock, sweetling. Gimme all your sweet cream while I fill you up with so much cum, your belly will be bloated, stuffed full with my seed and knot.

As soon as you read James’s message, you were lost to the pleasure of his words and his cock, and your fingers on your clit.

You muffled a piercing scream in the palm of your hand as you came, your mind flooding with pleasure and your pussy clamping down possessively on James’s cock while he rutted into you. You were so far gone in your bliss, you thought you heard a roar over the rush of blood in your ears, but you didn’t think it could be real.

Then all thoughts were pushed from your mind and you could only focus on your own clenching body, the warm waves of bliss surging through your limbs as James’s knot inflated and tied you together. His cock twitched as his cum spilled inside you, filling you beyond what you thought possible. 

You looked down at your belly, watching it swell slightly; your eyes widened, and your pussy gave an excited pulse. The sight was so obscene, you couldn’t help your response, but the werewolf on the other end of the portal didn’t seem to mind.

James’s cock kicked and reverberated like he’d groaned or chuckled, and you softened, relaxing into your seat as you enjoyed the aftershocks of your release. All the while, you lightly stroked your ever-so-slightly distended belly with a sense of pleased satisfaction. 

While you floated in your post-orgasm haze, your phone chimed with a sound like a cash register. Lazily, you picked it up, knowing it wasn’t a text, and read the screen.

Your jaw dropped and your whole body clenched in surprise at the amount of money James had tipped. His cock twitched as if in response in your cunt and you pressed your palm to your lower belly, as if to calm him, while you blinked a few times.

Still, the absurd number remained on your phone’s screen. 

You earned it, sweetling. 

The message popped up in the app and you clicked on it, navigating to your exchange with James. Your fingers were clumsy as you typed out a reply.

Thank you, sir. You’ve been so incredibly generous.

You chewed on your lip, thumbs hovering over the screen as you wondered if you should say more. 

You didn’t want James to think your session was all about the money, but was that a ridiculous thought? Maybe it was all about the money to him. He was using an anonymous sex portal app, after all. Not looking for someone to form a connection with.

But it still seemed like there was something more between you two, right? You felt more comfortable with him than you had any other client, like you knew him already somehow…

Before you could agonize over your exchange with James any more, a new message from the older werewolf came in. 

You were the best stress relief and cockwarmer, sweetling, and I enjoyed our afternoon together. I hope you’ll accept me as a Patron again.

James’s words settled the anxiety brewing in your chest and you let out a sigh of relief. You knew it didn’t mean he’d ever want more than you offered on Pleasure Portal, but at least he wanted to be with you again. It was as simple as that, you didn’t need to overcomplicate it.

He wanted to have another session with you—and you wanted that as well. So you told him as much. 

I had a good time, too. You’re welcome to use me any time you want, sir ☺️

The two of you chatted about unimportant things until James’s knot deflated, and he instructed you to drink plenty of water and have a nutritious snack. You promised him you would and bid him goodbye before ending the session.

Glancing at the time on your phone, you suddenly realized how late it had gotten and you pushed yourself up to your feet.

All the blood rushed to your head and you swayed for a moment, blinking spots from your eyes. Remembering James’s words, you gulped down some water from your reusable water bottle and grabbed a snack from your desk along with a spare set of clothes you kept on hand for messy Pleasure Portal sessions.

In the bathroom, you changed and cleaned yourself up, glad that Bucky was already in his office when you got to your desk that morning so he wouldn’t notice you were wearing something different if you ran into him.

Though that was a big if.

Your heart sank a little at the reminder of your unrequited crush on your boss, but hope filled you again when you thought of your newest Pleasure Patron. It might be another silly crush on an unattainable man, but at least James seemed interested in you.

By the time you made it back to the antechamber outside Bucky’s office, it was time for you to gather your things and head home. 

You were bent over your desk, your hips straining at the seams of the slightly smaller pencil skirt you’d thrown on, having forgotten it had shrunk a little in the wash, when a door opened behind you. You jumped and straightened up, nearly dropping your water bottle and spilling it all over your desk. 

“Oh! Mr. Barnes,” you said, spinning to find your boss towering in the doorway of his office, broad shoulders filling the space. “Heading home early?” you asked in a bright, professional tone, trying to hide the breathlessness from your voice. 

It wasn’t often that you saw your boss. He was always in meetings or coming or going from his office so that you only got cursory glances of the large werewolf. But he was paused for once, and you took a moment to look him over.

He had a mop of dark brown hair, worn just a little bit shaggy so no one could ever accuse him of trying to pass as anything but a werewolf. His blue eyes were bright and sharp in the late afternoon light, and you could see just a hint of his canine teeth as he offered a charming smile.

That expression on Bucky’s face nearly bowled you over. Your eyes skimmed quickly over his broad shoulders, trim waist and thick thighs before returning to the handsame face of the werewolf that haunted your daydreams. He looked every bit the important CEO, but there was also a looseness in his body you’d never seen before.

“I am,” Bucky said, his blunt words drawing you back to the moment. He held a hand out in a gesture for you to precede him to the elevators beyond the antechamber outside his office. “Let me walk you out.”

The offer was so surprising, all you could do was murmur, “Oh, thank you,” before scurrying in front of him. As you began to walk, you felt James’s cum begin to leak from your pussy and you moved faster.

Your belly wasn’t bloated anymore, and you’d cleaned yourself up as well as you could in the bathroom, but your Patron had filled you with so much cum, you expected you’d be leaking for the rest of the day, if not into the morning. 

You hoped desperately that your boss couldn’t smell it, because if he did, you wouldn’t have any explanation if he decided to question why you smelled like another werewolf’s cum when you were meant to be working at your desk outside his office.

When you came to a stop at the elevator bank, Bucky gently laid a hand on the small of your back and leaned around you to press the button. Thankfully, he didn’t show any signs of smelling James on you, and you exhaled a silent sigh of relief. 

The two of you made idle chatter while you waited for the elevator—you asked him how his afternoon meeting had gone and the edge of Bucky’s mouth fluttered like he was holding back a smirk while he told you it went very well. He said he’d gotten everything he wanted. 

Then he asked how your afternoon had gone, and you’d stumbled out a response about being very productive, all while more of James’s cum leaked from your cunt. 

As  you talked, you got the sense that Bucky was in a better mood than usual. He was certainly more talkative and open with you than was typical for the older werewolf CEO. He was polite, of course, but he mostly left you alone to do your job, only communicating via email.

But that particular afternoon, he seemed…happier. His icy blue eyes were warm, crinkling at the sides whenever he chuckled, and his smile was quicker, easier somehow. 

Impossibly, it made Bucky Barnes even more attractive to you. 

He was hot as the brusque and busy werewolf CEO, but this side of him, which was charming and warm, was even hotter. You could feel your heart unfurling in your chest, your feelings for your boss not only returning, but blossoming into something you didn’t know if you’d ever recover from.

When the elevator finally arrived, it was empty, and you gave yourself a subtle shake as you stepped in, reminding yourself that your boss was off-limits and likely didn’t see you as a potential partner. 

Bucky followed you, pressing the button for the lobby and turning to you as if to continue your conversation. But just then, the door whooshed closed and you were alone in a small, enclosed space with your boss—your werewolf boss. 

You were already looking at him, anticipating what he’d been about to say, so you were able to watch the change in his demeanor as it happened. 

Bucky’s nostrils flared, and his shoulders stiffened, his bright blue eyes darkening with something you could only describe as hunger. His gaze raked over your face, and his chest expanded as he took a deep breath, his thick muscles testing the limits of his suit. 

You watched as recognition dawned in his sharp, icy eyes, and if your mind wasn’t so sluggish after your afternoon of orgasms, you might’ve understood what was going on, what he was realizing. 

As it was, you still hadn’t caught up with the shift in Bucky. You stared at him in confusion as he stepped quickly to the side, his thick finger pressing the emergency stop button on the elevator. It shuddered to a halt between floors, leaving you alone with your boss.

Slowly, Bucky turned to you, his eyes flashing with lust and his teeth bared so that you could see the light glinting off his canine teeth. He prowled toward you slowly, like he was trying not to spook you. 

All you felt was intrigued, a thrill of excitement shooting through your body as you allowed Bucky to back you into the corner of the elevator until his chest was a hair’s breadth away from yours. Your chest was heaving in your blouse with excited, panting breaths, and your head was tilted back, watching Bucky’s face closely.

The purr that came from the werewolf CEO was so low and dark, you hardly recognized it as belonging to your boss, even as the sound went straight between your thighs. Your pussy thrummed eagerly in response, like it knew something you didn’t—like it recognized him in a way you didn’t understand yet. 

“Tell me, sweetling,” Bucky Barnes rasped, staring deep into your eyes as his big hand settled possessively on your hip. You swayed into him, watching his pink mouth framed by dark, gray-streaked stubble as he voiced the question that would change everything. “Why do you smell like my cum?”

thank you for reading!! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

as a reminder of my blog's rules, please do not comment/reblog only to request a part 2! specific questions and comments about the fic, the characters, and the larger universe are entirely welcome!! i just ask that you please engage with my story rather than simply demanding more!!

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

[thedevilworkshardnheskickngmyass]

okay it’s come to my attention that absolutely NONE OF YOU know ANYTHING about how cutie marks work. let me say this simply. a cutie mark isn’t a job being assigned, it’s a special TALENT OR SKILL that the pony enjoys. Most of the time it has a directly transferable job for that skill, like if you enjoy baking and are super good at it WOW! baker. If you are really good at writing and telling stories, author. However, there are some cutie marks that could go multiple ways.

twilight sparkle has exceptional magic ability, so she became a scholar, but she could really do anything that required a good magic skill. same with rainbow dash, her weather controlling job isn’t directly linked to her cutie mark, but it does fit the bill for the job.

i was posed the question of what would a murderer pony’s cutie mark be and wouldn’t everyone know. NO. if somehow murder were to be a special skill, the cutie mark might be something like a knife or a shovel. other ponies might just assume you’re good at cooking or gardening. now with cutie marks like apple jacks, their family has a ‘green thumb’ kind of deal so obviously the cutie mark would be hereditary.

so, the reason i made this post. walter white pony’s cutie mark would NOT be blue crystals. it would be a CHEMISTRY FLASK.

[thedevilworkshardnheskickngmyass]

— hardly discreet !!

clark kent x reader warnings: angst to fluff, clark using his superhearing to spy, jealous!clark, not proofread :0 word count: 3,000k

clark kent doesn’t do love. he tells himself he doesn’t have time for it. i mean, how could he, with the weight of an entire world on his shoulders? one more person to worry about would be a distraction, a weakness. at least, that’s what he used to believe. but then you came into his life. you waltzed into the daily planet with your perfect smile and beautiful features, and swept him off his feet—literally (lois still teases him about it). and everyone sees it, even if he thinks he’s good at hiding secrets. he hovers without hovering, the kind of man who will cross a crowded newsroom just to put your coffee down exactly where your hand is about to reach for it. he buys your lunch when you forget, pulls your chair out before you can, nearly trips over himself when you say thanks, clark, with a bright smile.

so when he walks into the bullpen that afternoon, balancing two coffees because he knows your usual order and wanted to surprise you, it feels like the floor drops out beneath him because his hearing snags on your voice. “…jimmy is so cute and amazing and everything he does is just perfect. i think i’m in love with him.”

the cup nearly slips out of his hand. his jaw clenches, something sick curling in his stomach, because you sound so sure—like it’s been sitting heavy on your chest for weeks and you finally let it out. he freezes in the doorway, coffee cup creasing between his thick fingers, staring at you and lois huddled by her desk like the world didn’t just tilt sideways. he forces himself to move, to keep walking, though each step feels wrong, like wading through cement. he sets the extra coffee down on your desk without a word, the gesture suddenly hollow, stupid. his throat is tight, his ears ringing with the echo of your confession.

"ugh, my hero," you grin, looking up to see him. he just nods, eyes looking everywhere but you. then, without a sheepish goodbye, or a murmured compliment, he trudges to his desk. you furrow a brow, watching the way his shoulders slump and his mouth curves downwards. you shrug and sip the coffee, practically groaning at the taste.

clark can barely focus for the next ten minutes because lois is still laughing at whatever you said, patting your back, and putting way too much sugar in her cup. when he moves his chair farther away from her chattering, he's met with the sight of perfect little jimmy olsen. clark knows it's wrong, but he can't help but feel hatred towards the red-head. of course you’d want jimmy. why wouldn’t you? he’s—he’s everything. he’s normal. he’s good. he's not…clark. he exhales deeply, pushing the thoughts out of his brain and rising to his feet. he mutters something about interviewing superman to lois before slinging his bag over his broad shoulder. for the first time in months, clark passes your desk without tripping over his own feet or offering to bring you back lunch. he just keeps his gaze straight, ignoring the small smile you send him that would've had him in cardiac arrest last week. when he shuts the door to the stairwell, he slams it harsher than usual.

"huh," you murmur, more to yourself than anyone else. it’s odd, the absence of his usual stammer, the way he doesn’t even pause to ask if you’ll need anything while he’s out. clark kent doesn’t just leave. not without fussing. not without that earnest, big smile that always makes you laugh under your breath. you glance toward the glass doors just in time to see the back of him vanish into the street. his frame seems even larger when weighed down with that invisible heaviness, his shoulders hunched like the city itself pressed down on them.

lois waves a hand in front of your face. “earth to dream girl. what’s got you staring holes into the exit sign?”

“nothing,” you say quickly, taking another sip of your coffee. it burns your tongue, but you don’t flinch. “he’s just…weird today.”

lois smirks, like she knows something you don’t. “maybe you’ve finally scared him off.” you roll your eyes, but there’s a seed of unease tucked somewhere beneath your ribs. clark, ignoring you? clark, walking out without a word? something’s off, and you don't like it.

meanwhile, he’s already halfway down the block, jaw tight, breath sharp against the collar of his shirt. every noise in the city seems louder, harsher. he wants to fly, to tear through the clouds until the ache in his chest evaporates, but even that won’t fix the image burned into his head—your smile, your voice, the certainty when you said something about loving jimmy. he adjusts his glasses, forces his hands into his pockets. you deserve jimmy, he tells himself. you deserve someone simple. someone safe. not a man who lies every day just to keep you from finding out what he is. but god, it really does feel like he’s been punched through a building.

~

the next morning, the newsroom is its usual chaos of ringing phones and rustling paper. you’re perched at your desk, expecting the familiar shadow of clark kent to appear at your elbow with a steaming cup balanced carefully in his hand. but he doesn’t. he walks straight past you, no “morning,” no stammered compliment about your outfit, not even the ghost of his bashful smile. his stride is stiff, mechanical. he sits, adjusts his glasses, and pretends the stack of notes on his desk is suddenly urgent.

your brows pinch, the silence where clark usually is buzzing like a mosquito in your ear. from across the bullpen, lois notices immediately. she grins like a cat with cream, rolling her chair over until she bumps against clark’s desk with a little thunk. “wow,” she drawls, crossing her arms. “no coffee or expensive danish for your girlfriend today? what’s the world coming to, kent?”

normally, clark would flush bright red, choke on his words, maybe even sputter something about she’s not my girlfriend. today, though, he just stares at his computer, jaw tight. “it’s not funny, lois.”

her smirk falters, curiosity sparking. “okay, grumpy. what’s crawled up your cape?”

he exhales slowly through his nose, voice quiet enough that only she can hear. “i heard you two yesterday. by your desk. i wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but i couldn’t not hear it. she basically confessed her love for jimmy.”

lois blinks, letting the information sink in, then lets out a bark of laughter so loud perry pokes his head out of his office and scowls. she waves him off, shoulders shaking. “oh, clark,” she says finally, grinning like she’s just been handed front-page gossip. “you are so out of your depth.”

he looks at her, confused and a little wounded. “lois-” but she’s already rolling back toward her desk, still laughing under her breath, deciding it’ll be far more entertaining to let him stew in his own misery than clear things up for him. from your desk, you glance between the two of them, unsettled by the storm cloud hanging over clark’s usually sunny face.

~

by the end of the day, you’re convinced something’s wrong. it’s not you—at least, you don’t think so. clark isn’t avoiding eye contact out of shyness, he’s dimmer. a man sized shadow slumped in his chair, typing but not seeing, answering questions with one-syllable words. it unsettles you. so, on impulse, you stop by his apartment that evening, balancing a warm paper bag of his favorite takeout against your hip. you knock, humming under your breath, rehearsing some lighthearted line about him looking like he needed it.

when the door creaks open, you almost drop the bag. clark stands there, hair mussed, tie still crooked from work. his glasses slide a fraction down his nose and he doesn’t even push them back up. his expression is blank, exhausted—nothing like the clark kent that you know. “hi,” you start, lifting the bag like an offering. “i, um…thought you might want dinner. you seemed…i don’t know. sad, today.”

for a beat, he just blinks at you. no blush, no stammer, just an emptiness that makes your stomach twist. and it’s impossible not to remember the last time you stood at this doorway. it was months ago, when you came to return the coat he’d forgotten at the office. he’d opened the door with his shirt half-tucked, papers scattered behind him, his ears blazing red. he’d practically yelped, slammed the door in your face, and by the time he opened it again—thirty seconds later—his hair was brushed, his apartment spotless, his shirt pressed like he’d just stepped out of the dry cleaner. you never questioned it, just laughed at how adorably flustered he was.

but tonight, none of that frantic effort. no rush to impress you. just clark, a shell of himself, standing there like he doesn’t quite know what to do with your kindness. “you didn’t have to do that,” he says finally, voice low, almost flat.

you frown. “clark, it’s just noodles. not exactly a grand gesture.” he steps aside reluctantly, letting you in. the apartment is dull, curtains drawn, papers stacked haphazardly on the table. he doesn’t make any excuse for the mess, doesn’t try to straighten anything. you set the bag down, glance back at him. “are you gonna tell me what’s wrong, or do i have to guess?”

his throat works. he looks at you, then away, as if the sight of you burns. clark rubs a hand over his face, glasses skewing, and mutters, “it’s nothing. really.”

you narrow your eyes. “you look like your dog died.”

“i don’t…have a dog. well, not really,” he says, almost defensively, before realizing how stupid it sounds.

you huff out a laugh despite yourself, unpacking the food. “exactly my point. sit down before you collapse on me.” he obeys, but slowly, like his body weighs twice as much tonight. he doesn’t even move to help, just watches as you set the cartons on his table and search his cabinets for plates. normally, he’d be at your side in a second, fumbling for napkins, tripping over a chair leg in his rush to make himself useful. “you’re freaking me out, clark,” you say finally, sliding a plate of noodles toward him. “yesterday you were fine, and today you’re like this. did perry yell at you? did lois make some crack about your tie again?”

“no.” his fork stirs aimlessly through the noodles, appetite nonexistent. his eyes flicker up to yours for a heartbeat, then drop to the table. “just—don’t worry about it.”

but you do. you can’t not. this is clark, the man who once apologized three times in a row because he accidentally bumped your chair. the man who leaves sticky notes on your desk when you’re having a bad day, with scribbled little cartoons that always make you smile. seeing him dulled, detached, is like finding the sun burned out overnight. “too late,” you murmur, softer than you meant to. “i’m already worried.”

his throat tightens. he pushes his food away, elbows braced on his knees, palms clasped so tightly his knuckles blanch. he wants to say it—that he heard you, that he knows you’re in love with jimmy, that it’s tearing him apart. but the words wedge in his chest like shards of glass. so instead, he shakes his head. “you don’t have to take care of me. i’ll be fine.”

you stare at him, unsettled. the clark you know would’ve blushed at the sight of you standing in his doorway with dinner, would’ve tripped over his gratitude, would’ve told you a dozen times you didn’t need to, but thank you, thank you, thank you. this version of him? he feels distant—even untouchable. “so who will?” you sigh, reaching out to rub your manicured nails up and down his arm. he flinches at the sudden contact. “if i don’t take care of you, who will?” you repeat the question, voice quieter this time.

for a beat, there’s nothing but the hum of his old refrigerator, the distant honk of a horn outside. then, the sudden snap of his words. “maybe you should go take care of jimmy instead.” the words land like a slap. sharp, petty, and completely unlike him. his voice isn’t raised, but it cuts through the room like glass.

your lips part in confusion. “what?”

instantly, his face crumples, shame flooding in. he drags a hand over his mouth, shaking his head. “i—god, i didn’t mean that.”

but you’re still staring at him, confusion knitting your brow. clark kent doesn’t snap. he doesn’t sulk like a child or spit out jealous little barbs. he doesn’t tell you to go take care of someone else. except, apparently, tonight he does. you whisper, incredulous, “where did that even come from?”

that’s when the words begin to spill out like you’d given him truth serum. “iheardyouandloistalkingaboutjimmyyesterday.” he babbles, eyes pinching shut in pure embarrassment. “i wasn’t eavesdropping—well, i guess i was—but that’s only because i have really, really good hearing.” you blink at him, stunned into silence. his words tumble over themselves, frantic and messy, and it’s so painfully unlike the careful, gentle clark you know. “you said he was super amazing and he was perfect and blah blah, and it really upset me because i really like you.”

your chest goes still, like the air’s been punched out of you. clark’s face is pink, his glasses slipping low on his nose as he finally dares to glance at you. his expression is raw, almost desperate. and then, all at once, it clicks. the conversation he must’ve overheard. the laughter with lois. the exaggerated tone you’d been using.

your lips part. “oh my god.”

he flinches. “i knew i shouldn’t’ve said-”

“no, clark,” you cut in quickly, leaning forward across the little table. “you didn’t hear the whole thing.” his brows pinch, confusion warring with the nerves flickering across his face.

“jimmy is so cute and amazing and everything he does is just perfect. i think i’m in love with him,” you’d said, slouched against lois’s desk, your voice dripping with mock sweetness. lois had nearly spit out her coffee, laughing as you mimicked the wide-eyed gush of the new intern who couldn’t string two sentences together without swooning over poor jimmy olsen. “and she didn’t know that he was right behind her! i almost died.”

back in clark’s apartment, you cover your mouth, a laugh threatening despite the tension. “clark… i wasn’t talking about me. i was making fun of that new intern, melanie. you know, the one who brings jimmy muffins every morning like she’s feeding a baby bird?”

his entire body stills. he blinks once, twice, the words catching up like bricks tumbling into place. “…oh.” clark’s ears flame instantly, red creeping down his neck. he scrubs a hand over his face like he can hide inside his palm. “i-” his voice cracks, and he clears his throat. “i thought—i really thought-”

“that i was in love with jimmy?” you supply, a mix of incredulity and something softer curling around the words.

he groans, deflating like a balloon and dragging his fingers through his hair. “god, this is humiliating. i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have assumed. i just—i heard it, and it felt like someone punched a hole straight through me. and then tonight i went and…” his jaw tightens, guilt coloring every syllable, “snapped at you. you didn’t deserve that.”

you study him, the way his shoulders slope in defeat, the way his chest still rises and falls too fast. you’ve never seen clark kent like this. it makes your heart ache. “clark,” you say gently, resting your hand over his where it grips his knee. he jolts at the touch, eyes flying to yours. “you like me?”

the question cracks something open in him. his throat bobs as he nods, slow, reluctant, but honest. “more than i should.”

your lips curve into a wide grin. “you’re serious.” you try your best to feign disbelief.

his laugh is humorless, quiet. “painfully.”

you tilt your head, studying him, the way his broad frame looks so small slumped forward on the couch. “i had a hunch.”

that makes him look up, startled. “you…what?” sure, maybe he was a little obvious. okay, more than a little. but in his defense, how else was he supposed to act around you? how do you look at someone who makes the whole room feel like it’s finally in color and not trip over your own feet? he thought he’d been careful. that the coffees and lunches and endless, nervous “thank yous” were just gentlemanly. the kind of things anyone would do for a coworker. except no one else at the planet is lining up outside your favorite deli to grab your lunch when you’re too swamped to get it yourself. no one else memorizes how you take your coffee down to the sugar packet.

but you noticed. of course you did.

you shrug, trying to bite back your smile. “clark, you bring me coffee every single morning without fail. you pull out my chair like we’re in a black-and-white movie. you once carried my bag down three flights of stairs because you said it looked heavy—it had one book in it.”

his ears are glowing now, eyes wide behind his lenses. “i—i thought i was being-”

“discreet?” you finish for him, laughing softly. “you aren’t very discreet.”

he groans, hiding his face in his hands, muffling something that sounds like, “oh, god.”

but you reach forward, gently prying his hands away until his flustered face is bared again. “hey.” your voice is softer now. “for the record i like you too. i have for a while.”

his mouth parts, a little stunned breath catching like he doesn’t quite know how to hold it. the corners of his lips twitch up, like a smile is fighting its way through all that disbelief. “you—really?”

“painfully,” you echo back, teasing but oh so true.

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[thedevilworkshardnheskickngmyass]

Hey, so I had this crazy idea about drunk bucky being a menace in love and is all over the reader and spilling embarrassing bedroom secrets in front of everyone 😉 and is so delusional, he believes that she is drunk not him and tries to take care of her but fails miserably and everyone is just enjoying his antics and cheering him on

You know what, you should totally add your own crazy thoughts about drunk bucky if you decide to write this 😃

ahhahahahhah, I cackled the whole time writing this😂

----------

Bucky Barnes was drunk.

Which wouldn’t have been a problem, except that he was aggressively drunk. Loudly drunk. Passionately, whole-heartedly, menace-level drunk.

And completely convinced that you were the one who’d had too much.

“Someone get her a blanket,” he announced to the room, throwing his vibranium arm out wide, nearly knocking over a lamp. “She gets cold when she drinks. You know—her knees? They do the little shiver.”

You blinked. “I’ve had one cider, Buck.”

“You’re slurring,” he said, squinting suspiciously.

“I’m not.”

“You are. And your face is doing that… face thing.” He nodded decisively. “Classic signs of a tipsy kitten.”

From his perch on the edge of the couch, Sam sipped his beer and grinned. “Tipsy kitten?”

“Shut up, Wilson,” Bucky grumbled. “She’s fragile.”

You were pretty sure you were the only sober one in the room. And yet Bucky, who had done four celebratory tequila shots with Thor ten minutes ago, was now babying you like you were one hiccup away from collapse.

You tried again. “I’m really not drunk.”

“That’s exactly what a drunk person would say.”

Natasha snorted. “She’s literally the one who drove you here.”

“And I thank her for her service,” Bucky said solemnly, wobbling slightly on his feet. “But I’ve got it from here. I’ll take care of her. Always do.”

“Always?” you muttered, and Bucky turned to beam at you.

“She cries after sex, y’know,” he said proudly.

Your soul left your body.

“Oh my god, James,” you hissed.

“Not because she’s sad,” he continued, unfazed, addressing the room like a man delivering a TED talk. “Because it’s so good. Her words. Not mine. Though I agree. I think it’s that one move I do—”

“BUCKY!”

Everyone erupted. Sam literally dropped his drink from laughing. Tony looked like he was about to take notes. Wanda covered her mouth. Steve whispered a soft “Jesus Christ” and turned toward the wall like it might save him.

Meanwhile, Bucky looked so pleased with himself.

“I’m just sayin’,” he shrugged. “She gets all emotional. It’s beautiful.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m going to die here. This is my death.”

“NO!” Bucky shouted, stumbling over to you. “No dying. You’ve had too much. You’re acting unstable.”

“I am sober, you absolute menace.”

He leaned in conspiratorially, whispering directly into your ear, “Don’t worry. I’ll hold your hair if you need to throw up.”

“I will end you.”

“Later, doll,” he grinned. “You always say that in bed, too.”

A sound left your mouth that may have been a wheeze.

Clint stood up, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Barnes, sit down before you reveal the coordinates of your sex tape.”

“We don’t have a tape,” Bucky said, then immediately followed it with, “Because we deleted it.”

Tony clapped once. “That’s enough entertainment for the evening, folks.”

But Bucky wasn’t done.

Oh no.

Because now he had moved into the delusional caretaker phase.

“You need water,” he said, cradling your face in his hands like you were seconds from passing out. “Where’s your water? You gotta hydrate. It’s important. You’re so small. You dehydrate faster than other people.”

“I’ve been hydrating,” you said flatly. “Meanwhile, you drank what was basically liquid gasoline.”

“Because I’m a super soldier,” he whispered, poking your nose. “You’re just a civilian angel.”

You looked around the room helplessly. “Can someone tase him?”

“No way,” Sam said through his laughter. “I’m letting this play out.”

“I’m gonna make you toast,” Bucky declared, staggering toward the kitchen. “That’ll soak up the booze. Where do we keep toast?”

“THE BREADBOX,” you and Steve shouted in unison.

Bucky paused, then snapped his fingers. “Right. Secret bread drawer.”

You flopped back against the couch as he banged around the kitchen, opening cabinets with the urgency of someone defusing a bomb. “Why is he like this?”

Nat shrugged. “Honestly? This is the happiest I’ve ever seen him.”

You glanced into the kitchen where Bucky was holding two slices of bread up like they were treasure. “He looks like he’s about to kiss the bread.”

“I might,” he shouted. “Because it’s for her.”

You groaned into a throw pillow.

By the time you finally got him wrangled into a coat and ready to leave, he’d managed to trip over a chair, try to bridal carry you and almost drop both of you, and glare at Sam while yelling, “DON’T CORRUPT HER WITH YOUR FILTHY JOKES. SHE’S A LADY.”

“She has more dirty jokes than I do!” Sam replied.

“DOESN’T MATTER. SHE’S MY LADY.”

“Bucky, get in the car.”

“Don’t raise your voice, she’s had a rough night,” he whispered, swaying dangerously.

You rubbed your temples. “I literally haven’t.”

When you finally got him into the passenger seat and clicked his seatbelt, Bucky turned to you with glassy, adoring eyes and whispered, “I love you so much, it’s stupid.”

Your heart softened.

“I know,” you said gently, brushing his hair back from his face. “You’ll remember all of this tomorrow and die of shame.”

“I hope so,” he said, already dozing off. “Because this was the best night of my life.”

[thedevilworkshardnheskickngmyass]

˙   ៹    ♡   𝐂𝐇𝐋𝐎𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐓 gif pack ,

𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧! in the source link you’ll find 300 medium gifs ( 268 x 151 ) of chloe bennet in interior chinatown. every single one of these gifs was made from scratch by me and for roleplaying purposes. do not: repost the gifs, include in your gif hunts, claim as your own or edit in anyway. like or reblog would be greatly appreciated if you found this useful.

content warning: eating, drinking/alcohol, kissing.

important note: please do not use my gifs if you were blocked by me, for sm*t situations, celebrity rp as themselves or ‘t*boo’ rps.

if you enjoy my work, consider buying me a☕ or take a look at my commissions information.

[thedevilworkshardnheskickngmyass]

DECODE

Clark Kent X Female!reader || WC: 5.2K

SUMMARY: Weeks have passed since Clark’s hurtful words, but the sting hasn’t dulled. You’ve kept your head down, burying yourself in busywork, avoiding his gaze, and bracing for the inevitable call into Perry’s office to be told you’re done. Only, it never comes. Instead, you’re handed something far more terrifying, a chance to finally prove yourself.

WARNINGS: Contains NO spoilers for Superman! Even more angst than the first part, slight fluff if you squint hard enough, lots of time skips, Clark grovels (as he should), self-deprecating thoughts, cursing, hurt/no comfort but a otherwise happy ending??

A/N: The long awaited part two for bad reviews! I hope this lives up to everyone's expectations! Hope y'all enjoy, but be prepared and brace yourselves! Divider by @bernardsbendystraws <3

➩ read part one here

➩ main masterlist

➩ clark kent masterlist

Two weeks. Two weeks since that awful moment had split something open between you and Clark, leaving it raw and tender no matter how many layers of work you tried to pile over it. You’d been avoiding him like the plague, timing your lunch breaks to miss his, ducking into the archive room when you saw his tall frame coming down the bullpen, and finding convenient excuses to be anywhere but near his desk.

Instead, you’d thrown yourself into everyone else’s orbit. Proofreading for Lois until your eyes ached, chasing down obscure sources for Cat’s latest gossip column, letting Jimmy drag you along on his photo runs even when the weather was miserable. You still got the morning coffee orders, it was muscle memory by now, but the ritual had changed. Where you used to slip Clark’s coffee onto his desk with a small sticky note, you now left the cup in the breakroom without a word.

No note. No smile. Just another order among the others, to be collected whenever he got around to it. You knew he noticed. Sometimes you caught it in your peripheral vision, a flicker of hesitation when he passed you in the bullpen, the way his steps slowed when he walked by your desk but never stopped. And there was a selfish, aching part of you that hoped it stung. That it carved into him the way his words had carved into you.

But mostly, you just felt empty. Like something important had been taken from you and left a space nothing could quite fill no matter how hard you tried. And you hated that you still looked for him in a crowd, that you hesitated in writing a note to go with his coffee, and that your heart still betrayed you whenever you heard his laugh from across the room. The worst part wasn’t that you’d lost him. It was that you weren’t sure if you’d ever really had him in the first place.

Luckily for you, no one at the Planet had directly brought up that day. Not Lois, not Cat, not even Perry, though you caught the occasional glance from him that lingered a beat too long, like he was silently checking if you were still in one piece or debating the perfect moment to fire you for what had happened. The only exceptions were the intern who’d barreled into you and Jimmy, each in their own way. The poor intern had approached you the following morning, clutching a manila folder so tightly his knuckles had gone white, his eyes darting anywhere but your face.

When he finally managed to mutter out an apology, the words tangled and broke apart in his throat, and he looked like he might faint right there in the bullpen. You’d forced out a smile, assuring him that it wasn’t his fault, that accidents happen, that you didn’t blame him. And it was true, you didn’t. But watching his shoulders sag with relief made you ache in a different way, because you knew that same guilt had been eating you alive for two straight weeks.

Jimmy’s approach was less fragile, more blunt in the way only Jimmy could pull off. He’d lean against your desk with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, tossing out casual observations like, “Clark's been slacking, half his articles read like they were written by a sleep-deprived freshman” or “You should see the way he mopes when you’re not looking. Guy’s practically auditioning to be the poster child for abandoned golden retrievers.”

You never laughed. Not because it wasn’t funny, but because you didn’t know how to do it without your heart breaking all over again. And deep down, though you hated yourself for it, you could picture it. Clark at his desk, brows furrowed, posture a little less sure than before, those blue eyes dulled like someone had turned down the brightness. The image was too much, so you buried it under headlines, deadlines, and busy work until the thought slipped away.

However, the longer Clark had mirrored your avoidance, the more the heavy ache in your chest began to twist and harden into something sharper. The sadness curdled into bitterness, the kind that lingered under your tongue and made everything taste wrong. You told yourself the silent treatment was childish, but the truth was, you didn’t trust your voice around him anymore.

Not when it might shake. Not when you weren’t sure if it would come out in a whisper or a scream. And maybe that was the worst part: knowing this tension had an expiration date. Eventually, Perry would throw an assignment at you both that forced proximity. Eventually, this taut silence between you would have to snap. But until then, you nursed your grudge like it was the only thing keeping you steady.

So when you arrived early on a Monday morning, still shaking off the damp chill of Metropolis in March, the last thing you expected was to find a coffee cup waiting on your desk. Your brows knit together, setting your bag down slowly, the way you might handle a suspicious package, and leaned closer. There, scrawled in black ink along the side of the cup, were two words and a crooked little frown.

I’m sorry :(

You didn’t need to look across the bullpen to know who it was from. His handwriting was unmistakable, blocky, careful letters, like he didn’t want to risk being misunderstood. And yet, here it was, an apology that wasn’t spoken, but written. On a cup. After nearly three weeks of nothing. The sting of it was immediate and ugly. A paper cup? That’s all your friendship was worth?

You let out a humorless scoff, the sound scraping low in your throat, and picked it up without hesitation. The styrofoam was still warm in your hands as you crossed the few steps to your trashcan. You dropped it in, not bothering to check if it landed upright, the faint rustle of paper against paper entirely unsatisfying. You didn’t need to look to know he’d seen.

You could feel it, the prickling awareness of his gaze from across the bullpen, heavy and hesitant. It only made your skin crawl hotter. Three weeks of silence, and this was what he came up with? No looking you in the eye. No real apology or explanation. Just a coffee cup with half-hearted ink. It wasn’t sadness anymore. It wasn’t even disappointment. It was fury, the cold, tight kind that sat in your chest and whispered, you deserved better from him.

Just as your fingers hovered over the keyboard, the low, familiar scrape of his chair sliced through the usual morning hum of the bullpen. A moment later came the sound of deliberate footsteps, measured, heavy, each one an unspoken warning. You didn’t lift your gaze. Didn’t twitch. Your face remained neutral, every muscle trained into stillness. If he wanted to talk, he wasn’t getting the satisfaction of seeing how much his presence still unraveled you.

The air between you grew taut, the quiet hum of the newsroom fading beneath the thud of your pulse in your ears. You could sense him just a few feet away, his shadow brushing against the edge of your desk. Your grip on the laptop tightened, knuckles whitening. “Y/L/N, my office.” Perry’s voice broke through like a crack of thunder, making you flinch in spite of yourself. The words carried the weight of a summons, sharp enough to slice through the tension like glass.

Your stomach dropped. Heat flushed the back of your neck, anxiety spiking so suddenly it felt like all the oxygen had been siphoned from the room. You shut your laptop with a little more force than necessary, the sound loud in the quiet corner of the bullpen, and shoved your chair back. The wheels rattled softly across the floor as you stood, keeping your eyes pinned firmly to the ground. You couldn’t bring yourself to glance at Clark, not when you could still feel him there, still watching.

Crossing the bullpen felt like walking across a stage with a spotlight overhead. Every step echoed in your chest, each one tightening the knot in your stomach. By the time you stepped into Perry’s office, you weren’t sure whether to be grateful for the interruption or sick to your stomach from the sheer weight of dread suddenly pressing down on you. “Please, sit.” Perry’s tone carried no room for hesitation.

He moved around the corner of his desk, shutting the door with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than the bustle of the bullpen outside. You obeyed, stiffly lowering yourself into the chair opposite him. Your posture was taut, every muscle in your body strung tight. For a moment, you felt twelve years old again, waiting to be scolded by the principal for something you weren’t even sure you’d done.

The silence stretched, eerie and suffocating, your pulse thrumming like a warning bell in your ears. Finally, Perry leaned back in his chair, his piercing eyes steady on you. “Miss Y/N, you’ve been here almost a year now,” You managed a stiff nod, throat too dry to risk opening your mouth. “Which is why I’m assuming you know this is during the time in which I assign you to write your own article for the paper.” Your brows knit together in confusion, his words clicking slowly into place.

This was it? This was what this meeting was about? The tension in your chest loosened just enough for you to whisper, stumbling over the words. “Wait, s-so I’m not fired?” Perry’s lips twitched, but his tone carried a finality that left no room for doubt. “Of course not. I’ve seen you put in the work. Even as an intern, you’ve always gone above and beyond what’s expected.” His gaze sharpened, as though measuring your reaction.

“With that being said, I expect your finished draft on my desk by next Friday. Understood?” The breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding escaped in a shaky exhale, your shoulders slumping with relief. The suffocating weight that had been pressing down on you since that day, the doubts, the cruel echoes of Clark’s words, your parents’ criticisms clawing at the back of your skull, all of it slowly eased.

“Understood. Thank you so much, sir.” Your voice was steadier than you felt. As you left Perry’s office, the world outside seemed sharper, clearer somehow. The constant chatter of the bullpen no longer felt like background noise you were trying to disappear into; it sounded like the rhythm of something you belonged to.The doubt still lingered in the back of your mind, like an old bruise not yet healed, but underneath it something else began to stir, a spark you hadn’t felt in months.

The idea that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t what everyone else had convinced you to believe. That you weren’t incompetent. That you could do this. Because you already knew what story you wanted to tell, one that had been simmering in your chest, just waiting for a chance to be set free. Now you had that chance, you were going to ensure to bleed every ounce of yourself into those words.

If Clark thought you couldn’t handle the stakes, if your parents thought you’d never measure up, if anyone had ever doubted you, this was the moment you’d prove them all wrong. For the first time in weeks, your lips curved into something resembling a smile, not for anyone else to see, but for yourself. And this time, you sure as hell weren’t going to let anyone take it from you.

It’s safe to say, ever since Perry had dropped the assignment onto your lap, you’d been an unrelenting storm of nervous energy. Your desk had become a battlefield, coffee-stained sticky notes sprawled across the surface, highlighters uncapped and bleeding onto papers, your laptop screen a chaotic mosaic of tabs stacked one over the other. You weren’t even sure how many times your eyes had crawled across the same sentences, desperate for a spark that never came.

Lois and Jimmy had tried to reassure you, over and over, that the piece was already sharp, publishable, even good. But good wasn’t enough. Not when every journalist in Metropolis was clawing for the same story. Superman. The city’s savior. The city’s menace. Friend or foe. God or ghost. They were all writing about him, drowning in clichés and recycled takes. Yours had to stand out.

“Found some Superman statistics and sources to help with your article.” Your head jerked up, muscles aching from hours of tension, to see Lois drop a stack of copies onto your desk. A weak smile tugged at your lips, but it faltered before it could land, the exhaustion behind your eyes betrayed you. “How many times have you gone through it today?” She pressed, an amused curve pulling at her mouth as she glanced at your computer screen.

“Eight,” You groaned, collapsing forward until your palms swallowed your face. “And it’s still missing something. I can feel it. It’s hollow.” A hesitant voice broke the fragile rhythm. “Y-You’re writing about Superman?” Clark. Your hands dragged down your cheeks, fingertips burning against tired skin, as you locked onto him. “Is that a problem?” The scoff in your throat escaped sharper than intended, your gaze snapping to his with an icy glare.

“Last I checked, Superman articles didn’t belong just to you, Clark.” Lois cut in smoothly, arms crossing in challenge before he could shape a rebuttal. Clark’s shoulders tightened, clutching his stack of papers as if it could shield him. “I-I didn’t mean it like that,” He muttered, shifting uneasily before forcing his gaze back to you. “I’m sure you’ll crush it.” Your lips parted, a sharp retort curling on your tongue, but Lois didn’t give you the chance.

“She will,” She snapped. “Not because she needs your approval, but because she’s a brilliant writer.” Clark flinched, nodding quickly, his eyes skittering away before retreating to his desk with all the grace of a scolded child. Lois reached out, her hand warm and grounding as it squeezed your shoulder. “Call me if you need me.” She murmured, her gaze softening into something protective. You gave the smallest of nods, making a mental note to never get on Lois Lane's bad side.

The rest of the week blurred together in a mess of deadlines and exhaustion until Wednesday morning arrived, two days shy of the finish line. Stress had practically carved itself into your bones, every muscle knotted tight from long hours hunched over your keyboard. But for the first time in days, you felt the faintest flicker of pride while staring at your screen. After endless rewrites, you finally had something that felt close to right.

You reached for the printer button, ready to hand it off to Lois for another ruthless round of proofing, when a shadow stretched over your desk. “Good morning.” Clark’s voice came out too chipper, too rehearsed. He lingered, holding a paper bag like it was some kind of peace offering. “I stopped by that place you like down the street. Thought you could use a pick-me-up. They had fresh chocolate croissants and I even grabbed you a—”

“Clark. Stop.” The words cut through his ramble like a blade. You didn’t raise your tone, but the coldness in it made his voice falter. “W-What?” You swiveled fully in your chair, arms folding across your chest like armor. Heat coiled in your stomach, the weeks of silence and festering resentment spilling out at last. “You haven’t spoken to me in almost three weeks unless Perry’s hovering nearby or you’re too restless to sit still,"

"Do you honestly think caffeine and sugar erase the fact that you crossed a line? A sad face written on a coffee cup isn’t an apology. So just… stop.” Clark’s throat worked, guilt flickering in his eyes. He shifted his weight as though he wanted to step closer, but your glare rooted him in place. “But I—” He began weakly. “You what?” Your voice rose, sharper now, frayed with the hurt you’d been biting back.

“You thought you could waltz back in here, flash a dimpled smile, bat those blue eyes, and everything would go back to normal? Like I’d forget that you made me feel exactly the way my parents do?” His lips parted, stunned. “I would never—” A bitter laugh tore from you before you could stop it. “You called me incompetent, Clark.” The word scraped out, fragile and jagged, dredging up the sting all over again. “Incompetent.” You leaned forward, venom lacing every syllable.

“Want me to pull up the dictionary definition for you? Like I was some clueless intern, not your friend. I admit it, I ruined your notes, but it was an accident. Yet instead of treating me like a human being who slipped up, you cut me down. Do you have any idea what it feels like to be made that small? To be humiliated by someone who’s supposed to have your back?” Clark’s face paled, his mouth tightening, but no words came. You shook your head, fighting the lump clawing up your throat.

“I get it, you were having a bad day. But that doesn’t excuse the way you treated me. For fuck’s sake, I would never do that to you. And now you come dragging this kicked puppy routine around my desk every five minutes like that’ll fix anything? Newsflash, it won’t. As far as I’m concerned, we’re coworkers. Nothing more. So please stop it with the constant hovering.” Silence spread between you like spilled ink, thick and suffocating.

Clark’s shoulders sagged beneath the weight of your words. He opened his mouth once, then closed it again, his usual confidence fractured into something small and raw. “Okay.” The single word rasped out, hollow. He turned, the bag of croissants dangling forgotten in his hand. His head hung low as he walked back to his desk, not daring a glance in your direction.

The ache in your chest should’ve been relief, due to the fact that he’d finally gotten the message. But instead it throbbed with something heavier, sharper. The fact that he hadn’t even tried to apologize properly, that he had surrendered so easily. You stared at his retreating figure with a sting in your eyes only this time, you refused to let the tears fall. Because for all your anger, it still hurt, worse than his words had, due to the silence where an apology should have been.

Before you could psych yourself out of it, you had printed, triple-checked your paper, and left it squarely on Perry's desk Wednesday afternoon. The urge to yank it back and dissect every line clawed at you, but you forced your hands into your pockets and walked away. It was the same old habit, the kind that had haunted you since college, revising until the words bled dry, second-guessing until nothing felt good enough.

Not this time. You wouldn’t let your own doubts swallow you whole again. After weeks of tension and sleepless nights, you finally allowed yourself a breather. A day off felt almost sinful. Waking up past noon, tangled in blankets, wandering around in pajamas with bedhead you didn’t care to fix, it was freedom. Ice cream straight from the carton became dinner, the cold sweetness melting on your tongue as you sank into the couch and let yourself just exist.

But even as the comfort wrapped around you, reality tugged at the edges. The Daily Planet waited, looming, pulling you back into the orbit of fluorescent lights and clattering keyboards. Morning came faster than you’d liked. With a double espresso warming your hands, you marched through the revolving doors, every step a quiet reminder to keep your head up. Just one more day, you told yourself, one more day and the weekend was yours.

You set your coffee on your desk, bracing yourself for the usual routine, until Cat’s squeal pierced the air. “Y/N!” She nearly barreled into you, arms looping around your shoulders with enough force to knock you sideways. Before you could catch your breath, another set of arms hooked around you, Jimmy, grinning from ear to ear, lifting you like you weighed nothing. You laughed, completely breathless.

“Okay, okay! Not that I don’t appreciate the affection this early in the morning, but what is happening?” Lois stepped forward, eyes glinting with pride, a newspaper folded under her arm. She pressed it into your hands, her smile radiant. Your gaze dropped, and the world seemed to narrow to the bold print staring back at you:

The Weight of the Cape by Y/N Y/L/N

For a heartbeat, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Your own words stared back at you in black and white, no longer drafts buried in the depths of your laptop, no longer scribbled notes crumpled by self-doubt. They were there, inked, permanent, on the front page of The Daily Planet. You blinked hard, reading and re-reading the headline until the letters blurred. Your brain fought to convince you it was a dream, some cruel trick of exhaustion.

But then Lois slipped an arm around you, pulling you into a warm, grounding hug. The paper crinkled in your hand, real and solid. A tidal wave of emotion crashed over you, relief, pride, disbelief, and something sharper, stronger. For weeks you had carried their voices in your head: the whispers of incompetence, the doubts, the weight of every dismissal. But as you stared at your byline, those voices finally dimmed.

They hadn’t disappeared, not entirely, but they no longer controlled you. You had drowned them out with proof inked on the front page. Your chest tightened, but not from anxiety this time, from something fierce and steady. “Holy shit.” The breath left your chest in a rush, half a laugh, half a stunned whisper. “Holy shit is right,” Jimmy grinned, eyes wide with excitement. “You’re the first intern to ever score an article on your first try. On the front page, no less!”

“We’re so proud of you!” Cat chimed in, clapping as she threw her arms around you again. Her perfume enveloped you, dizzying but warm, grounding you in the reality that this wasn’t a dream. “I couldn’t have done it without all of you.” You confessed, your throat tightening as a swell of gratitude rushed over you. Lois nudged your ribs, her grin sharp but affectionate. “You’ve got to stop selling yourself short. You deserve this.”

She lifted the newspaper for emphasis, the headline shining like a badge of honor in her hands. Your chest swelled, the words sinking deep, nestling into places inside you that had felt hollow for far too long. For once, you didn’t argue, didn’t brush it away. You let yourself believe it. “Miss Y/L/N, a word.” Perry’s booming voice cut through the chatter, carrying the weight of command that always froze the bullpen in place.

“Of course, sir.” You straightened automatically, your lips pulling into a polite smile as you followed him. As you walked past Clark’s desk, your steps were lighter, your chin tilted higher. You didn’t search for his eyes, didn’t linger in the ache of what had been broken. Which is why, you didn’t even notice the way his hand tightened into a fist on his desk, lips downturned with obvious guilt.

Inside Perry’s office, the door clicked shut behind you, making you jump slightly before forcing yourself to settle. “Miss Y/L/N,” Perry began, pacing slowly behind his desk. “You are the first person to ever turn in your assignment early, three days early, no less.” His brow arched, his tone unreadable. For a moment your pulse skipped, unsure if you were about to be reprimanded or praised.

Then his expression shifted, softening with a gravity that caught you off guard. “Journalists like you are rare. Which is why, there's a selfish part of me that wants to keep you here in Metropolis. But it would be wrong not to tell you, you have something extraordinary. I rarely see the drive and dedication that I see in you.” You twisted your hands together in your lap, heart hammering as his words pressed against the walls you’d built so high around yourself.

“I have a colleague in New York,” Perry continued. “Runs a paper, bigger than ours in some ways. He can be overbearing, but he’ll sharpen your skills, push you to be the best journalist possible. If you want it, the job is yours. Not as an intern, but a journalist.” For a split second, the world stopped spinning. A job. In New York. The very step you had dreamt of taking since the first time you held a pen with purpose.

Every long night, every moment you doubted, every sting of underestimation, all of it led to this. The hesitation you usually clung to wasn’t there. For once, your instincts spoke louder than your fear. “I’ll take it.” The words tumbled out sure and certain, steady as your pulse finally calmed. Perry’s mouth curved into a rare smile as he extended his hand. “New York will be very lucky to have you.” Your fingers closed around his firmly, strength surging through the contact.

Walking out of his office, you felt it for the first time, not just relief, not just pride, but power. The doubts hadn’t vanished, but they no longer owned you. The voices that once told you you weren’t good enough dulled into whispers, easy to ignore, irrelevant against the truth inked on the front page and sealed with Perry’s faith. For once, you weren’t surviving, you were soaring. And you couldn’t wait to see how much higher you could climb.

The following Monday, Clark walked into the bullpen with something he hadn’t carried in weeks, resolve. He’d finally mapped out what he was going to say, the apologies he owed, the explanations he’d rehearsed a hundred times in the mirror. He was done pretending the silence between you wasn’t suffocating. He was tired of the sharp edges that had taken the place of what used to be soft, effortless trust.

Today, he told himself, was the day he would try to piece it all back together. His messenger bag hit the back of his chair with a soft thud, but the usual relief of routine didn’t follow. The air felt different, too still. His eyes darted toward your desk out of instinct, and the sight of it, empty, cold, lifeless without your presence, made his chest tighten. Maybe you were running late, maybe you were buried in copy edits somewhere else.

Then he saw it. A single coffee cup sat waiting on his desk, casual as if dropped off in passing, but something in his gut clenched. He reached for it, fingers brushing against the cardboard sleeve, and the moment he lifted it, dread curled up his spine. It was weightless. Empty. And yet it wasn’t empty at all. Scrawled across the side in your familiar handwriting, was one single word.

Goodbye.

The breath he didn’t realize he was holding left him in a sharp exhale, his throat constricting as the bullpen noise blurred around him. The plan he had so carefully built, the words he had finally gathered, scattered in an instant. He had been too slow, too cowardly, too late. The chance to fix what he had broken wasn’t waiting for him anymore. It was gone, just like you.

It was exactly four months since you had moved to New York City. Clark’s gaze, though he tried to keep it fixed on the half-finished article on his screen, drifted against his will to the desk that used to be yours. The empty surface mocked him, so sterile, so bare. His shoulders sagged beneath the weight of that absence, his heart sinking with the truth he couldn’t escape: you were gone.

Not a day passed without the sting of regret, without the echo of that day haunting him. The words he had hurled at you burned like ash in his throat now, the memory of your stricken expression twisting the knife deeper. He could still hear the sudden stutter in your heartbeat and the desperate tremor of your breath as you tried to hold yourself together.

He had walked away from them, from you, into Perry’s office as though his life weren’t splintering with every step. Clark Kent didn’t lose control. Superman didn’t raise his voice. But that day he had. And it wasn’t because of you, it was everything else. The Fortress in ruins from Krypto’s restless fits, the endless stream of attacks in Metropolis demanding a man who never seemed to tire, deadlines closing in on every side, his double life colliding until he could barely breathe.

He’d felt cornered, stretched so thin it was a wonder he hadn’t torn in half. And now you were somewhere else, thriving, no doubt. Probably doing extraordinary things he’d never get to witness firsthand. Things you should’ve been doing here, if only he’d been strong enough to hold onto you instead of pushing you away. He was so lost in that familiar spiral of thought that he didn’t notice Jimmy bustle in, clutching a freshly printed paper.

He barely registered Lois and Cat leaning in, their voices overlapping in excitement as Jimmy jabbed a finger at the front page. Curiosity tugged at him, and despite the heaviness anchoring him to his chair, Clark rose and wandered closer. The moment his eyes landed on the paper, his breath stalled. Your face beamed back at him from the page, radiant and proud, standing there with a Pulitzer in your hand.

In the other, the article that had earned you the prize, your smile so bright it carved a hollow ache in his chest. Above the photograph, the headline: The Daily Bugle Celebrates Youngest Journalist Ever to Win Pulitzer. Clark’s throat closed, guilt pounding through him like a second heartbeat. You had soared higher than anyone had dared imagine. Higher than even he had believed you could, though he had never once doubted your talent.

"Not too bad for an incompetent intern, huh, Clark?" Lois’s voice cut into him like a blade. Her smile was sharp, mocking, though her eyes glittered with something colder, crueler. She didn’t mean it to be playful. She wanted him to feel it. Jimmy and Cat shifted uncomfortably, fighting back smirks but smart enough to retreat, leaving Clark standing there, exposed, gutted. He forced his eyes back onto your picture, as though staring hard enough might make it feel less like a punishment.

But it didn’t. It only reminded him of what he’d thrown away. The newsroom faded to a dull murmur. Your triumph staring him in the face, proof that the world recognized your worth in the way he should have, the way he hadn’t when it mattered. Clark swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he turned away. His cape and crest might have symbolized hope to millions, but right then, in the quiet wreckage of his heart, he felt like the furthest thing from a hero.

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[thedevilworkshardnheskickngmyass]

Can you do smut with clark Kent, he is so big so he goes to deep and has to take you to the er, even though he hurt you he is very proud of him and his dick

Three inches from heaven

Pairing: david!clark kent x fem!reader

⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-181938

A/n: as you can tell i'm really enjoying posting weekly extras

Summary: Every inch counts...especially when he knows how to use them.

Classification: Smut +18 | safe vaginal sex, praise, use of X-ray vision in a sexual context, depictions of bruising and visit to a hospital/ER, including unprofessional or comedic remarks from medical staff. Clark is extremely caring but also hilariously anxious, tending toward over-the-top worry and protective behavior but yk...it's Clark.

Word count: 3,7k

Divider by me ;)

“Kinky” wasn’t the word you’d use, it was more “adventurous” than anything else. You’d never had a partner you could trust this much before, so when you and Clark became official, naturally, you wrote a list of everything you wanted to try sexually. It was a long one, scribbled out with the kind of excitement you’d been too shy to ever act on before and Clark had been just as eager, if not more, to work through it with you. 

He treated it like a mission dossier, equal parts thoroughness and enthusiasm, even adding his own notes in the margins sometimes. You were getting close to “Sitting on Clark’s face” which he underlined and punctuated with five exclamation points, as if to make absolutely sure it wasn’t skipped, but tonight’s experiment was prone bone.

The night began like any other with a modest dinner, small talk, him cleaning up while you lingered on the couch, a soft kiss here and a brush of fingers there. You never planned when to cross something off the list, it always came after you were already warm, flushed and at least halfway undone from the way he worshiped you and tonight was no different. 

Two orgasms in, when your muscles were loose and your mind was humming, you finally asked for it.

Face down on the couch, you gazed out at the glittering skyline of Metropolis through the wide windows of Clark’s apartment. Your chest rose and fell in steady anticipation, your body already tingling. Behind you, Clark shifted into position, his knees bracketing your thighs as he bent over you while his lips brushed soft, reverent kisses along the damp trail of your spine.

“Are you sure?” he asked for the second time, voice low while his lips pressed against your shoulder blade.

You hummed your answer but he wasn’t satisfied with just that.

“You can stop me at any time. Don’t wait until it hurts. Even if it’s just uncomfortable, you stop me. You hear?” His tone was firm but gentle, a voice that left no room for doubt.

“Loud and clear,” you whispered, turning your head just enough to meet his gaze. He tilted your chin up and kissed you languidly, sealing the promise between you.

When he pulled away, he slid a pillow under your hips, lifting you just enough and adjusting you until you were perfectly angled. The cool air brushed your heated skin and then came the warmth of him. Clark’s tip nudged at your entrance, before he pressed forward with care, the stretch was immediate and the invasion enough to pull a groan from your throat and press your forehead hard into the cushion beneath you.

He stilled instantly. “Baby, you okay?”

“Yes,” you breathed, voice tight, before lifting your head to make sure he knew. “I’m okay.”

And you were. The position was intense, restrictive and it made him feel impossibly big inside you. He knew it too, you could hear it in the rough sound of his groan as he pushed deeper, every inch claiming you in slow increments. The way your body clenched down on him, walls fluttering tight around his length, had both of you struggling to catch your breath.

He inched forward until he was nearly bottomed out…nearly. You didn’t have to say a word before he was already checking with that telltale pause as he used his x-ray vision to confirm your body’s limits. His tip brushed your pelvis and he still had a few inches left, but he wasn’t about to risk hurting you.

“We’re gonna go nice and slow,” he murmured, his hand smoothing over your hip, reassuring you. His voice was steady but there was an edge of strain beneath it, like it was taking everything in him to hold in his release.

All you could do was nod, gripping the couch cushion as he began to move with careful precision, every thrust calculated and every pause a silent check-in. The city lights spilled across the room as his warmth enveloped you from behind, you felt at once completely overwhelmed and utterly safe.

Clark’s chest pressed fully to your back now, the heavy weight of him both pinning you and shielding you. Each deliberate thrust came in that slow, scooping motion and you felt it all, in the best way possible. The way he carved himself against your velvety walls, the way his hips rocked to angle deeper and the way his cock seemed to drag and nudge at every tender ridge inside you until your entire body shuddered.

“Uhhh–fuck, you’re…so deep,” you moaned, voice breaking on the words. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You’d thought maybe after two orgasms your body would be less sensitive, that you’d float in the afterglow but the opposite was true. Every nerve was heightened, raw and open and all you could do was cling to the moment. Your focus narrowed until all that existed was him, the ridges, the veins and the delicious weight of his cock stretching you. Your nails dug deep grooves into the leather cushions, desperate for anchor, while your blurred gaze caught only fractured streaks of city lights beyond the window. Your mouth hung open, letting small hiccups of sound escape each time he rocked into you while the pleasure bubbled uncontrollably.

His lips brushed the damp curve of your shoulder, his nose nuzzling into your skin. He murmured into you like he was kissing a secret there. “You’re taking me so good, baby. So darn good.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, head tipping forward and you whispered with ragged need, “F–faster.”

He stilled just enough to ask, his voice still low and careful, “Are you sure?” Even now, even with the control it must’ve taken for him not to simply give in, he waited. He needed your confirmation.

You nodded quickly, desperately so. “Yes, Clark. Please...I- I need more.”

The change was immediate. He wasn’t ruthless, he never would be but the shift was enough that your body reeled. His pace picked up, hips rolling with heavier intent and faster, until your moans tumbled free with no control at all. Your back arched further, chest pressing harder into the couch while the tension in your body snapped tighter with every thrust.

“Mmmm–you’re so big…filling me up so good.” you cried, the words ripping free, unfiltered. You didn’t care how shameless it sounded, didn’t care if it made his ego swell, the only truth in that moment was the stretch, the fullness and the overwhelming pulse of him inside you.

He groaned against your skin, his voice dark and low as his arms locked tighter around your middle. “You’re taking it like a champ, baby.”

“Mmmmyeah?” you gasped, the syllable fractured by a sharp intake of breath.

“Mhm,” he hummed, warm and rumbling against the shell of your ear, his thrusts never faltering. His breath was hot, heavy, every exhale ragged. “I’m so proud of you.”

The words hit you almost as hard as the pleasure itself, leaving you trembling in his arms as the rhythm of his hips drove you closer to that unbearable edge.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take long before your bodies found a rhythm that bordered on devastating. It was steady, hypnotic and deep enough to leave you dizzy. Clark’s pace never faltered, never reckless, yet it carried a precision that left no part of you untouched. The air in the apartment grew heavy and humid with the sharp mix of your moans and his groans, the slap of skin against skin filling the darkened room until it sounded like the walls themselves were trembling with you.

Then his hand slid up, warm and broad, wrapping around your throat with a pressure just firm enough to make your head spin. He squeezed lightly, careful yet commanding and your eyes immediately rolled back. 

“Fuck…I’m…Uhhh–I’m coming. Yes–” You choked.

The sensation tipped you over the edge with startling force, your orgasm tearing through you in a whimpering, broken sound that was equal parts whine and cry. It might have embarrassed you if it had come from anyone else’s touch but with him, there was only trust and relief. Only the gentleness threaded through every inch of his strength.

The pulsing of your release gripped him tight, milking him until he groaned loudly, burying himself deep as he spilled into the condom. The sound he made, low, guttural and raw, vibrated against your spine as his forehead dropped to the top of your back. Both of you were shuddering, caught in the tail end of the storm, your breaths ragged and uneven as the room gradually quieted again.

You stayed there like that for a while, two minutes, maybe more, bodies heavy and languid in the aftermath. When he finally pulled out, the absence was met instantly with the comfort of his arms wrapping you close.

As it always did with Clark, the intensity of sex melted seamlessly into tenderness. Aftercare came like instinct, his lips covered you in soft kisses while his voice murmured reassurances, his laugh breaking into warm little chuckles when you did too. There was something almost comical in the way he padded across the room, completely naked, just to grab the list and dramatically cross off “prone bone” with a grin.

You both ended the night in the shower, washing each other with lazy strokes and shared smiles, before collapsing into bed tangled together. His arms caged you gently, his warmth draped around you like a blanket and the last thing you heard before sleep was his quiet, content hum against your hair.

You slept peacefully for about three hours before the unease started creeping in. First a little shift here, a toss there and then the ache bloomed sharp enough in your lower stomach that you curled around it, clutching the spot. The mistake was letting a tiny wince slip out. It was soft, barely audible but of course, nothing ever got past Clark. He sat up so fast it nearly startled you more than the pain.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was low, urgent and already thick with worry.

You tried to brush it off, rolling onto your back with a weak laugh. “You and your superhearing. I’m fine, Clark. Go back to sleep.”

But “fine” had never once been good enough for him and you should’ve known better. He flicked on the light from his bedside table, casting a warm glow across the room, then promptly pushed the blanket off you.

“Excuse you!?” you protested as he straddled your hips and tugged up the hem of the shirt you’d stolen from him. “What do you think you’re doing? Hey, pervert–”

He didn’t even look at your face, his mouth twitching in something dangerously close to a grin. “Funny, you didn’t call me a pervert earlier when I was inside you.”

Your cheeks heated instantly. “Well, that’s–”

But your retort cut off when he began pressing gently on your lower stomach, carefully as well as methodically, watching your expression like it was the most important readout in the world. The second you winced, he reacted like you’d been scorched. He practically leapt off of you, hands fumbling for some sweatpants as though fabric could shield you from whatever he’d just confirmed.

“Clark–”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he rushed out, voice strained as he guided your legs into the pants and tugged them up with heartbreaking gentleness. “You’re bruising. I can’t see clearly how bad, so…” He trailed off, swallowing hard before helping you sit up, his hand splayed against your back.

The soft sound you made as the motion tugged at your stomach almost broke him completely. His jaw tightened and you realized his eyes were frantic. “We’re going to the hospital,” he said firmly. “We’re making sure it’s not too bad. No arguments.”

His statement was only half a lie. Clark could see perfectly well but his mind had already jumped ten steps ahead, imagining every possible worst-case scenario.

You blinked at him, both touched and exasperated. Superman, absolutely unshakable in every other way and here he was, pale and rattled over the thought of accidentally hurting you.

“Okay then, but Clark I can dress myself,” you said as he tied the drawstring of your sweatpants, trying to act casual even though the subtle brush of his fingers against your skin sent heat racing through you.

He nodded rapidly, eyes soft but frantic. “I know, baby,” he murmured, cupping your face and pressing a string of gentle kisses to your cheeks and forehead. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I should’ve been more careful. I just—Well, it’s you and I–” His hands lingered as he slipped off your sleep shirt.

“You didn’t. I mean, not really… hard to tell when I was cramping around your dick,” you said, letting your voice take on that teasing edge, “but you know… details.”

He froze for a second, brow furrowing. “Are you… smiling? Why are you smiling?”

“Sadistic, right? Thought so,” you said with a small grin, the corners of your mouth tugging up as you watched him fumble with a clean shirt for you. “I’m trying to keep it in, but… you look really hot when you’re worried.”

Clark’s lips twitched into a nervous chuckle as he pulled the fresh shirt over your head. “Arms…I’m glad you find my worrying hot,” he said, his voice a mix of relief and self-conscious pride, before moving on to dressing himself. “But this really isn’t the right time.”

By the time you both got into the car and drove to the ER, your stomach still ached with cramps, but for some inexplicable reason, you couldn’t stop giggling. Half from discomfort and half from the absurdity of it all. His anxious nature made it almost impossible to keep a straight face. 

Clark hovered over you in the waiting room like a hawk, pacing slightly and muttering under his breath about how no one seemed to understand the urgency of your “condition.” He leaned over the receptionist counter, using his most serious, authoritative voice.

“My girlfriend was… uh… injured,” he said, trying to choose his words carefully. “It’s a… pelvis situation, very sensitive. We need a doctor, immediately.”

The receptionist blinked at him, confused. “Uh… okay… do you have an insurance card?”

Clark flinched, muttering something about bureaucracy slowing down life-or-death situations, then spotted a nurse strolling by, who he waved over frantically.

“Excuse me. Nurse!” he called, his voice full of desperate urgency. “She’s… giggling but bruised. Lower abdominal area. Pretty sure she needs professional evaluation. Stat.”

The nurse stopped and raised an eyebrow, taking one look at Clark’s intense, almost panicked expression and then at you curled slightly on the chair, clutching your stomach with a mix of pain and giggles.

She tilted her head, lips twitching. “Uh-huh… yeah, that tracks,” she said dryly, her eyes flicking back to Clark like, no wonder. “Room 3. You can wait there.”

Clark practically scooped you into his arms and carried you to the room, muttering apologies for the dramatic scene while simultaneously shushing your giggles. You could barely stop yourself from laughing at the sight of him tiptoeing as if the entire hospital were a crime scene.

Once you were settled on the hospital bed, Clark hovered like a shadow, wringing his hands and muttering, “I told the lady at the front desk, twice. I–”

“Clark, it’s a bruise,” you whispered, tugging at his sleeve. “People don’t come to the ER for bruises.”

His brow furrowed as he leaned down, lowering his voice. “People also don’t wake up in the middle of the night wincing. What if it’s not just a bruise? What if it’s a fracture? Or an internal bleed?”

You blinked at him. “You think you broke my pelvis?”

His ears flushed red. “...It’s possible.”

The nurse who had come in to take your vitals, clearly overheard and had to bite back a smile as Clark rattled off every symptom you didn’t have. “No fever, no nausea, no weakness in her legs but she winced three times on the way here and–”

“Clark,” you interrupted softly, pressing his hand, “I think I can handle answering the questions.”

“Sir,” the nurse said patiently, one hand on her hip. “She’s going to be fine. You can take a breath now.”

You tried to muffle a laugh. “Yes, do that before you get hospitalized,” you whispered, still clutching your stomach.

Then the doctor finally arrived, striding in with her clipboard and scanning the room. Her eyes landed on Clark, frozen mid-pacing next to the bed, pale and panicked and she immediately let out a soft laugh, as well as letting out a quiet comment on how giant your boyfriend looked perched in the corner, hands clasped like he was waiting for news of a life-saving surgery. 

“Oh… yeah. Okay. That’s the problem,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of her. But you?” she nodded at Clark, “Anything wrong with you besides the clear panic attack?”

He shook his head dramatically. “I’m completely worried, normal, casual about this and utterly terrified. All of the above…minus a few, maybe.”

“I know for sure ‘normal’ doesn’t belong on that list,” the nurse muttered. You laughed so hard your stomach pulled uncomfortably.

“He’s just…large,” you managed between chuckles.

“Unreasonably so,” she agreed, with the solemnity of a medical observation as if physics itself should’ve intervened.

Clark flushed bright red but didn’t back down. “I’m concerned. This is a… a delicate… very delicate situation.”

The doctor shook her head, smirking. “I can see that. Let’s get her checked and maybe… keep the heroics to a minimum?”

“He’s never been very good at that.” You snickered, letting your head fall back on the pillow. Clark gave you a pointed glare but couldn’t hide the small smile creeping onto his face as the doctor started her exam.

Even in the ER, Clark’s mix of worry, pride and ridiculous intensity made you laugh between groans and you both knew this was going to be a story retold many times, much to his chagrin.

The doctor, still suppressing a grin then gestured for Clark to step back. He hovered reluctantly, arms crossed over his chest like a storm cloud, peeking over her shoulder anyway.

“Alright,” she said, leaning over to examine you, “let’s see what’s going on here.” Her fingers pressed gently along your lower abdomen and pelvis, eyes flicking up at you with professional focus but her gaze couldn’t resist darting to Clark, who had gone completely pale.

“Uh… I’ll just… stand right here,” he muttered, inching closer than strictly necessary.

“Yeah,” the doctor said, raising an eyebrow. “This is… exactly what I expected. Very… inflamed,” she murmured, glancing at Clark. “Not from an accident, I take it?”

Clark stammered. “Uh, no! I mean–well, technically…yes? It was consensual, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“She wasn’t,” You mouthed.

The doctor tilted her head, eyes narrowing like she was solving a puzzle. “It happens. It’s nothing permanent. She’s perfectly fine, just bruised.” she said, letting out a small laugh.

You laughed weakly from the bed, covering your face. “See? Told you I’m fine.”

Clark froze. “Well you know I don’t like that word.” His cheeks burned red but there was no hiding the mixture of pride and embarrassment.

The doctor handed you some ice packs and gave Clark a pointed look. “Ice, rest, maybe a bit of over-the-counter pain relief and you,” she said, tapping him lightly on the shoulder, “next time, dial it down to… human levels. Got it?” The doctor joked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Clark said solemnly, almost saluting, though his lips twitched into a grin.

By the time the nurse finally waved you both out, Clark was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He had insisted on carrying you to the car to make sure you weren’t in pain, occasionally glancing at you like he might tackle anyone who even looked at you wrong.

“So…” he began as soon as you were buckled in, voice quiet but intense, “maybe we should… reevaluate the list. Make sure nothing on there…physically overpowers you again.”

You laughed, shaking your head, the seatbelt pressing across your midsection a sharp reminder of the last few hours. “Yeah… no way, I’m not gonna do that. God forbid I actually enjoy the stretch! You have a big dick, Clark, get over it! I knew exactly what I was signing up for when I wrote that list and trust me…I’m loving it so far.”

He blinked, trying to look stern but failing spectacularly. “I… okay. That’s more sincerity than I expected and I’m…very proud of you.”

“Been working on it,” you said with a playful smile.

Clark nodded, his expression softening. “I can see that. I still need to make sure you’re safe,” he murmured, tugging gently at your hand that rested on your thigh.

The doctor had insisted on rest, no activity, just to let the bruises heal but your mind had already wandered. “Which I’m sure you’ll enforce, Superman,” you said, pausing with mock seriousness. “Umm… so, about this whole resting thing…”

“Sweetheart–”

“How far are we taking that? Face sitting doesn’t really count, right?” you asked, smirking. “I mean, technically…”

Clark froze mid-hand squeeze, his eyes widening. “We’re still in the ER parking lot and you’re thinking about sitting on my face?”

“Yes,” you said, trying not to giggle. “It’s literally zero impact on the bruising. The doctor said no activity, but… come on, Clark… that face is begging for it.”

He blinked slowly, then cleared his throat, releasing your hand to push up his glasses and discreetly, or not so discreetly, readjust himself. “We’ll… uh… we’ll see,” he muttered, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as his mind raced.

“Will I… get an answer by morning?” you asked, glancing at the darkening sky where the first hints of sunrise were creeping in.

He started the car, eyes flicking to you with that mix of exasperation and mischief only he could pull off. “Baby, you’ll get an answer when I stop… leaking into my underwear,” he muttered, voice tight with effort. “Then I can think straight.”

You bit back a laugh, trying not to let the growing smile take over your face. “Will that be… soon?”

He shot you a glance, one brow quirking and lips twitching as if he were fighting his own amusement. 

“It’s unlikely,” he said flatly, though his eyes betrayed every ounce of delight and torment you were causing and you understood then, with a devilish grin, the absolute importance of depth. 

Clark clearly took it very seriously and you intended to test every inch of it.

A/n: If you had to write your own list, what are the top three things you’d put on it? I'll go first! 1. Having the guy wear a ghostface mask, motorcycle helmet or literally anything that covers his face while we... yk, 2. Cockwarming, 3. Watching my partner jerk it *bites finger* (If you judge me you'll have diarrhea for a month straight) Anyway!!

Thank you lots for reading, reblogging, commenting, requesting and following guys! love interacting with you all. See you later this week! 🫶

[thedevilworkshardnheskickngmyass]

.⋆｡Almost One Bed｡⋆.

Clark Kent x plus size reader

On a work trip where so far everything has gone wrong, it all culminates in having to share a bed with your super hot coworker, except you could’ve sworn there were two beds in the room just a minute ago

Warnings: one bed trope, down bad!Clark, little bit of gaslighting but it’s ok cause he’s cute, smut, friends to lovers, protected sex, size kinky, dry humping (i cannot stop thinking about the kitchen scene), tiny hint of sub!Clark WC: 3.4k Minors DNI Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

There was always something that inevitably would go wrong, you thought as you sagged into a chair in the hotel lobby. It was nearing three in the morning and yet you were still being denied a room, something about reservations and hotel policy that you really didn’t have the mental bandwidth to understand at this point. After travelling all day for an interview that was cancelled half-way during your flight, so now you were trapped in fucking Oregon with the one coworker you found unbearably hot even if he was the biggest dork you had ever met.

“I’m sorry, it seems like they’re holding firm on this one.” You hummed and looked up at the man who somehow, given his size, snuck up on you as you wallowed in your misery. You wanted to wave him off, he had gotten his own room without any problem though refused to leave you alone to deal with your own issue, but instead you just looked up at your work partner with hazy eyes.

“It’s alright Clark, it’s not like I haven’t slept in a hotel lobby before.” His frown deepened but he quickly caught himself and readjusted the thick frames that had slid down the bridge of his nose. 

“I don’t want to leave you alone.” He swallowed thickly and glanced over his shoulder, as if confirming that an empty room wasn’t about to magically appear in the lobby. And when it didn’t, he gave you a nervous grin, his cheeks blooming with a soft pink. “Why don’t- why don’t you stay in my room with me? I’ll sleep on the floor.” He rushed to add on, his blush growing darker as he shuffled.

Your stomach fluttered. “You don’t have to do that, you deserve a good night’s sleep more than I do. But if you are insisting-“ he cut in with a quick ‘I am’, “-then I’ll take the floor.” His lips pulled downwards, tugging your heart with them. 

He looked around one more time, blue eyes sparkling with an idea that he seemed almost too bashful to admit aloud. One dark curl bounced against his forehead as he looked down at the floor, his shoes squeaking against the linoleum. “We could share the bed?”

Heat rushed through your body, the thought of sharing a bed with the dorky mountain man of your dreams filling your head before you could stop it, sending your heart into overdrive. It was no secret to anyone you worked with that you had a crush on Clark, being his designated photographer you had unparalleled access to the man, seeing sides of him that no one else had the privilege to. And you were not passing up this chance.

“Ok, just for tonight. I’m sure they’ll have another room open by tomorrow.” You prayed that they didn’t. 

Clark smiled and before you could move, he scooped up your bag and slung it over his shoulder. “C’mon let’s get you to bed, we can deal with everything else in the morning.” 

The lady at the front desk gave you a tired smile as you passed, a genuine look of apology on her face but at this second, you really just wanted to hug her in gratitude. You didn’t even realise the elevator doors had opened, too lost in the thought of just how warm his body would be next to yours as you settled under the cheap hotel duvet until Clark laid a massive palm against the small of your back, guiding you inside.

You bit down hard on your lip, swallowing back the whimper that almost escaped you. The elevator moved up with a deep rumble, leaving a charged silence hanging between you. With each floor that passed, your stomach knotted tighter and tighter until you were struggling to breathe normally while beside you, Clark was the image of calm.

The hallway that opened up in front of you was virtually identical to every other you had seen yet it felt so different as he led you forwards, the duffle bags hanging from his broad shoulder bouncing against his back, one hand already holding his key card, the other still resting on the dip of your spine. You wondered vaguely if he would insist on putting pillows between you, then your mind slipped into what he wore to bed.

“Here we are.” His smile was nervous and a little keen, the same smile he had given you when you were told that the two of you were going on this trip. The lock beeped and the little light turned green. This was it, finally something was going to go right. You let yourself imagine just how noble he would be, turning his back while you slid into bed, wanting to give you as much privacy as he could in the small room before he would join you, that adorable pink blush covering his cheeks as your legs bumped together. Maybe he would wish you a goodnight in that soft voice of his while turning out the lights, maybe it would get cold during the night and he would unconsciously tug you to his chest, maybe, just maybe, he would kiss your forehead to soothe you back to sleep.

Darkness encompassed the room, leaving you blindly fumbling for the light switch while Clark shuffled in behind you, blocking out the light from the hall. Your finger tips brushed against the switch and you took a deep breath, willing the butterflies in your stomach to stop for just a second, and then you flicked the lights on. Both of you froze as you took in the room.

There were two beds, two queen sized beds.

“Huh.” The sound came out as more of a laugh but it seemed forced. You turned to Clark, his mouth still hanging open, his shoulders slumped. As soon as he caught your gaze, he righted himself though he seemed so disappointed. “Why don’t you take the shower first, I should call Perry and leave a message for him.”

Your mood plummeted and suddenly your exhaustion returned. Of course the universe wouldn’t give you this. Maybe next time you thought as you took your bag from Clark’s hands, planning to sulk in the shower for a while before you had to suck it up and be normal about this whole thing.

The hot water helped relax the throbbing behind your eyes and washed away the stickiness between your thighs. You had thought briefly of taking care of it but Clark was right on the other side of that wall and as much as that made your mind fuzzy with desire, you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything about it. You cut off the water abruptly, resting your forehead on the tiles and letting the condensation cool you down. 

Just as your hormones levelled out, there was a loud scraping sound just outside the door.

“Clark?”  You called, stepping from the shower and wrapping a towel around your body. “Is everything ok?”

“Yeah! Yep! Totally ok here, just stubbed my toe against the desk.” He stammered, voice slightly muffled by the wood between you. You couldn’t help but smile. What a dork.

The room was considerably colder as you left the bathroom, donned in your pyjamas. You stumbled over the threshold making you miss the guilty expression on your partner’s face before he dashed to the bed. You giggled. “I think I’m a lot tireder than I initially thought.” And then you looked up, and for the second time in half an hour, you were frozen to the spot.

Clark was now lounging on the bed, the only bed in the room.

“What happened to the other bed?” His dark brows furrowed.

“There’s only one?” He responded, looking down at the single queen before back up to you. “I think you’re right, you are way too tired, especially if you're seeing double.”

He sprang up from the mattress, his hands immediately landing on your wide hips, and herded you towards where he had been sitting. You could do nothing except obey, your mind spinning with confusion. 

“Are you sure there was always one?” He threw the sheets open for you before helping you under them with a sad if not slightly guilty expression on his face. 

“Just get some rest, I’ll be back in a minute.” You watched him run to the bathroom, snagging his bag on the way. The door slammed shut and you rolled onto your back, eying the now weirdly empty room. The bed seemed too small for the space but he was right, there was only one bed with no evidence of another anywhere. The only weird thing was that the big window at the far end of the room was slightly cracked open.

You sat up, the sheets pooling around your hips. The shower turned on again. You could check it out and be back in bed in less than a minute but then you looked at the empty side of the bed. Clark was a big man, he would take up most of it, forcing you both to cuddle if you wanted to stay fully on the bed.

You flopped back down and something in your chest eased. The sound of water and the occasional movement from Clark provided the perfect white noise for your exhausted mind, lulling you into a contented doze. By the time he finally emerged, steam following him out of the bathroom, you were almost asleep but awake enough to open your eyes to catch the view of a lifetime.

His bare chest was the first thing you saw— he was toned but not ripped, a healthy layer of fat covering his body as well as a thatch of dark hair on his pecs that led to a trail of it disappearing beneath the plaid sweats he was wearing. He had left his glasses behind, letting you see his face completely unobscured. He was tired, no doubt, but blindly beautiful and you couldn’t keep yourself from smiling at him as he approached.

“Feeling better?” You nodded into your pillow and he graced you with a relieved grin. You had never noticed how pronounced his canines were before. “Good.” The mattress dipped with his weight, making you roll over slightly to his side of the bed. His shoulder brushed your cheek as he settled, his skin was warm and unbelievably soft, like he was born from sunshine. 

His arm pressed against yours, your thighs touching in a way that made many parts of you flutter. “This ok?” 

“More than.” You murmured, eyes shutting again. He hummed contentedly before he leaned away from you and the light by his side of the bed flicked off and he returned to you.

The night settled over you, dragging you closer and closer to sleep but your mind still gnawed at one thought. “I really thought there were two beds for a minute there. Thank you for letting me crash here, I can’t even think what would’ve happened if I fell asleep in the lobby being this tired.” 

Clark pressed his nose to the top of your head, his fingers plucking softly at your wrist. “You don’t have to thank me for that… not when it wasn’t really selfless for me to insist.”

You were wide awake now. “What do you mean?” You lifted your heavy head from the pillow, looking at him in the low light of the moon streaming over you both.

Clark refused to look down at you. “What man doesn’t want to share a bed with a gorgeous woman?”A few moments passed and he took a deep, shuddering breath, steeling himself. “And I, well this sounds really awful, but I was kind of hoping that this would happen. Is that wrong?”

You could feel his anxiety in the way his muscles seized beneath your touch, his fingers ceasing the gentle caressing of your skin. For a moment, you let it sink in, some part of you feeling completely vindicated in your disappointment. “No. I really wanted it too, how could I not? Not when you’ve always been so important to me.”

Your whispered admiration stilled him before, finally, blissfully he spoke once more. “Thank god.” 

His lips were just as soft as you had fantasised, his touch just as gentle. His nose pressed into the swell of your cheek while your hands grabbed at his shoulders, encouraging him to deepen the kiss till all you could think of was him. “God, you drive me crazy. Just so beautiful and smart.” He groaned into your mouth, his touch now firm on your hips, pinning you to him.

“Clark.” Your moan seemed to set him alight. 

“Please keep saying my name like that.” He dove back into your lips and rolled over, covering your body completely with his. He settled happily between your soft thighs, pressing close to your warmth. “Please.” His hips rolled against yours and you gasped. Pleasure rocketed through you, his cock rubbing your clit like it was made exactly for you.

Your ankles locked behind his back, meeting each roll with one of your own. He chased your lips as he humped you, his pants growing tighter to the point of tugging on him uncomfortably. 

“Can I take them off?” 

“Only if you take off mine too?” He shuddered above you.

“You’re trying to kill me.” He whimpered but quickly went about shedding both of your clothes and then laid down over you again, sending a whole new sensation through your veins. His skin against yours, his (fucking massive) cock resting between your lips, his curls which you loved so much obscuring your vision as he tilted his head to drink in the sight of your nakedness. It felt so right, consuming your exhaustion and frustration, leaving you only wanting for him. 

He gave a restrained thrust and immediately pulled himself away, one large hand grabbing the base of his cock and squeezing tightly. “You feel too good and we haven’t even done anything yet.” 

“Then maybe we should do something, cause I also need you so badly Clark.” He nodded and kissed you before scrambling off the bed, reaching for his bag. You caught the flash of the metallic packet in the moonlight. He quickly rolled the condom onto himself and crawled back onto his side of the bed. As he leaned back against the headboard, you finally saw the sheer size of him. Long and thick and painfully hard.

“It might be easier for you if you’re on top.” He pulled you into his lap eagerly and it was all you could do to watch his cock twitch with excitement as you settled above him. 

“Full of yourself Kent?” You teased though your heart twisted and your pussy fluttered at just the thought of trying to take him.

“No, but you’re about to be.” You froze as he easily lifted you, guiding his tip to your entrance. He inched inside and already you burned with the stretch. The whimper that escaped your swollen lips had him pausing. “We can stop, if it’s too much. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You pulled the hand on your waist into your own, twisting your fingers together with his. “No, it’s ok. Just give me a few seconds.” Clark tilted his head upwards, kissing you softly as you lowered yourself down, taking more and more of him with each shared breath and moan. His cock carved itself through you like he had done to your heart so long ago. Everything within you chanted his name, calling desperately for his mind, his body, his soul, and he was finally giving it to you, with each and every inch. 

In no world would you last long, already teetering on the edge but you had to last, for this to last. Your hips met his and the breath was stolen from your lungs. He squeezed your fingers like he was trying to comfort you but the way his jaw ticked and his muscular thighs spasmed beneath you told you that you weren’t the only one struggling to hang on.

“I can’t believe this is happening. I’m so scared I’m gonna open my eyes and this will all have been a dream again.” You slumped down, pressing your forehead against his own.

“You dream about me?” You lifted off of him, your wobbly legs keeping you up for only a few seconds before they gave out and you swallowed him to the hilt once more. He moaned and grabbed at your hip with his free hand.

“Every night.” You started to rock, gently at first, gauging just how much your body could take without breaking, then a little faster as Clark’s grip got tighter. “You feel so good, you can’t be real.” 

“I am. I’m real ‘nd I’m yours.” You pulled your joined hand upwards, letting his palm spread across your bouncing chest, right above where your heart was racing. “Feel me, ‘m real.”

His mouth chased your pebbled nipple, catching it between his teeth, making you gasp. “Yeah you are.” He snarled against your skin, now meeting each roll with a desperate punch of his hips, tying your nerves tighter to the point you found it hard to breathe. He sucked and licked, groaning loudly as you tugged on his hair with each motion.

“Clark I’m-“ You hadn’t realised how close you were until suddenly it was barreling right for you.

“Let go, it’s ok. I’ll catch you.” He held your hips, rocking them for you. The head of his cock brushed against that spot deep inside of you that had your fingers and toes go numb. 

“Want this to last.” The words forced themselves from your lungs and his pace stuttered just like his breath. You felt him twitch violently inside of you as he pulled you down all the way. 

“Don’t- don’t say that. I need you to finish first.” He planted his feet onto the mattress, now firmly in control, hitting that spot over and over again. “I’ll give you everything you want, need. You just have to ask.”

“You’ll sleep next to me again?” You were close, so close, just needed one little push. 

“Every night. Forever.” You shattered above him, your body seizing with pleasure you’d never felt before. Your moans echoed through the room, undoubtedly carrying out into the night but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when you felt too full and warm and finally content after so long yearning for it.

Clark moaned with you, his chest rumbling with its force, keeping his pace until your pussy finally relaxed around him and you were eased back to reality. “Cum for me Clark.” You whispered.

“God please!” He cried, thrusting up into you, chasing his own end. You grabbed onto his hands and threw your head back. Your pussy burned with overstimulation but you never wanted him to stop. Your neck rolled to the side, your vision swimming, but it was just clear enough to make out the weird shape in the tree right outside the window. It kind of looked like a queen sized bed, sheets and all. Just when you squinted to try and get a better view, Clark bucked up, his thighs seizing beneath your ass as he gave a loud cry of your name.

Your head snapped back and watched as he fell apart, shattering beautifully between your legs. His thumb found your clit, driving you to one last orgasm as his tapered off. “Clark!” You squealed, trying to get off of him but he was relentless, expertly throwing you into ecstasy. You trembled above him, just barely keeping yourself upright before he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

His heart hammered beneath your ear, bringing you back down to earth while he stroked your back. A hand on your ass helped guide your hips upwards and let his softening cock pull out of you. “Thank you.” He whispered into your temple, pressing kiss after kiss to your sweaty skin.

“I should be thanking you, you made me cum so hard I thought I saw a mattress in the tree outside.” You giggled, tracing the gentle lines of his body with your fingertips.

Clark’s eyes widened, not that you could see, and glanced towards the open window. He really thought he angled the throw perfectly so that the bed would miss the branches.

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sergeant's magic mouth

🫦 based on this ask but I definitely diverted from the main plot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: You thought you were just his fling. He thought you were his girl. Then you overheard Steve teasing Bucky about his legendary skills in the bedroom—particularly his mouth. Bucky gets flustered. You get curious. A week later, he proved he’s still got it.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, oral sex (f receiving), pussy eating, misunderstanding trope, soft dom!Bucky, desperate!reader, overstimulation, slow burn tension, emotional release

Word Count: 3.5k

The compound was quieter than usual, the aftermath of a long mission settling in like a low, collective exhale. Somewhere in the common kitchen, someone clinked a glass. Distant laughter floated through the hall—probably Sam or Clint. But in the softly lit entertainment room, it was just you and Bucky. Again.

You’d flopped onto the couch hours ago after sparring, half-watching a movie you’d already forgotten the name of. Bucky had joined a little later, tucking himself into the corner of the cushions, red henley hugging the bulk of his arms, the silver glint of his metal arm catching the TV’s light like a low hum in your peripheral.

You hadn’t meant to end up in his lap. Again.

But like always, his palm was already on your waist when you slid over—grounding, warm despite the chill of the metal. His thighs were spread wide beneath you, relaxed and solid, and your legs naturally draped on either side like they belonged there. You leaned into him. He didn’t stop you. He never did.

It had been like this for weeks now. Maybe months.

Long after the dust from the whole Civil War mess had started to settle, you and Bucky had slipped into something wordless. Something sacred. You didn’t know what to call it—it didn’t feel right calling it just friends. Not when you could still feel the way he’d kissed you that first night after the team’s barbecue. The way he’d held you still while your hips rocked against his, slow and aching. Not when your heart stuttered every time he looked at you with that tired, hungry softness that made your skin burn.

The first kiss had been a dare. A stupid, tipsy game where someone dared Bucky to kiss you and no one—no one—had expected him to actually do it.

But he did.

He cupped your face with his warm hand, looked you in the eye, and kissed you like he’d been holding that breath in since 1943. And from then on… something shifted.

Now, he’d let you straddle him during quiet movie nights. His jaw would clench when your hips moved just right. You’d feel him through his jeans, thick and hard under you, and he’d groan—deep and strangled like he was holding something back. He’d mouth at your neck, hands gripping your waist, but it never went further than that. Never inside. Never under the clothes.

And you told yourself it was fine. You told yourself maybe this was just how it was going to be—this undefined, lusty thing. You told yourself it was better than nothing. Because it was Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes. The man women used to whisper about back in the 40s—the charmer with the bedroom eyes and silver tongue. You’d heard the rumors. Everyone had.

And you? You were just… you.

He could have anyone. And maybe you were just the convenient body he used to push those urges away—a warm lap to grind into, a mouth to kiss when the nights got too long. You didn’t know how to ask for more. You were terrified that if you tried, he’d pull away.

Meanwhile, Bucky? Bucky thought you were his. Fully.

He thought you’d been his since the second time you kissed him—the night you’d curled into his lap after patrol and whispered “I missed you” like it meant more than just the day. And it had killed him not to touch you deeper, not to give you everything he had. But he remembered what you said at that same team barbecue, right after everyone settled down with their beers and ribs. Someone had joked about hook-ups and you, ever soft-spoken, had laughed shyly and said:

“I’m a little old school. I don’t really go all the way unless it’s someone serious… like, serious-serious.”

And Bucky? Bucky was from the actual old school. Back in the 40s, that meant one thing—you waited until you were married. And if you were the kind of woman who saved yourself for that, then goddammit, he wasn’t going to be the reason you’d break that promise.

So he held back. Every time your body writhed against his. Every time he could smell your arousal through your leggings. Every time he had to clench his jaw and bury his face in your neck just to keep from coming in his pants.

He never touched himself after. Not once.

Didn’t jerk off to the thought of you, even though he ached to.

Because he wanted all of it—all of you—the right way.

He thought the wait would be worth it.

He just didn’t know you were waiting for him to want you at all.

—

The late afternoon sun cast warm streaks of gold across the compound, tinting the walls and windows with lazy amber light. You’d just wrapped up training and were headed toward the balcony, drawn by the familiar sound of laughter—two deep voices rolling over each other in low, nostalgic waves.

Steve and Bucky.

You slowed your steps as you approached, the soft creak of your boots masked by the breeze curling in through the open doors. They hadn’t noticed you yet, and you paused just beyond the archway, hidden by the sliding glass panel, your eyes flicking over to them instinctively.

They were seated side by side on the wide balcony bench, drinks in hand—Bucky with his legs spread in that casual, careless way, grey shirt pulled tight across his chest, silver arm draped over the backrest. Steve had a glass of something dark balanced in his grip, laughing into it.

“Alright, Buck. Be honest with me,” Steve said, nudging Bucky’s boot with his own. “How’s everything with you and her?”

Bucky shifted a little, his jaw tensing as he looked down at the drink in his hand.

You froze, breath catching. Her? You?

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was soft, but sure.

“We’re doing just fine.”

Steve scoffed. “Just fine? Buck, come on. That’s not enough.”

Bucky chuckled under his breath, but there was a flicker of tension in the movement—like he was trying to ease discomfort off his shoulders. He rubbed his thumb along the curve of his glass and glanced sideways at Steve.

“I don’t think I should be talking about her when she’s not here,” he muttered. “That wouldn’t feel right.”

You blinked. Your chest tightened. He was talking about you like—

Steve laughed again, all good-natured and clueless. “God, you haven’t changed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky asked, arching an eyebrow, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

“You remember the 40s?” Steve leaned back, the bench creaking under his weight. “Every girl at the bar was looking past me, and straight at you. I couldn’t get a date to save my damn life. You? You walked in and the whole room turned to jelly.”

Bucky snorted, tipping his head back with a sigh. “Yeah, well. That was before the serum. Before your fan club started.”

Steve smirked. “Oh, how the tables have turned, huh?”

Bucky gave him a look—part fond, part annoyed—but didn’t deny it.

Then Steve added, with a smirk far too knowing:

“You know, I still remember the rumors. I wasn’t supposed to hear most of ‘em—but you know how dames talk when they’ve had one too many.” He grinned into his glass. “Word was, anyone who got lucky enough to sleep with Sergeant Barnes left with their legs shaking.”

Bucky groaned immediately. “Jesus, Stevie—”

“No, no, wait—my favorite was the one who said you had a magic mouth,” Steve continued, delighting in the way Bucky tried to sink into himself. “Swore you knew exactly what to do down there. Said it was like being—what was it—worshipped?”

Your heart skipped. What?

You stepped out, your voice too curious for your brain to catch up.

“Wait… Bucky was that good with girls?”

Both men looked up fast. Bucky flinched like he’d just been smacked with a brick.

“Shit,” he muttered, straightening up immediately, his metal fingers tightening around his glass. “How long’ve you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” you said, fighting a grin as you stepped toward them, trying to sound innocent even though your pulse was sprinting. “I didn’t know you had a magic mouth, Bucky.”

Steve glanced between you and Bucky, the corner of his mouth twitching with the kind of subtle amusement only a best friend could pull off.

“Well,” he said, rising from the bench with smooth ease, “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

He set his glass down on the ledge, adjusted the sleeves of his shirt with practiced calm, and gave Bucky a pointed look that only made the other man shrink deeper into his seat.

Then, with a polite nod to you, he added,

“Try not to give him too hard a time, huh?”

And with that, Steve turned and walked back inside—composed, quiet, and absolutely smirking.

The silence he left behind was scorching.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, his skin already turning crimson beneath the ends of his hair. His silver fingers tapped against the railing like he couldn’t decide whether to escape over it or just melt into a puddle where he stood.

“That, uh… that wasn’t exactly how I wanted that to come up,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the floor.

You leaned next to him, arms crossed, brow arched just slightly. “You never told me you had a reputation.”

He groaned. “God. It was blown way out of proportion, I swear.”

“Oh?” you tilted your head, pretending to think. “So you didn’t make girls’ legs shake?”

Bucky winced. Practically folded into himself.

“I mean—maybe a few,” he muttered. “But not like that. It wasn’t… Jesus, they made it sound like I slept with the whole borough. I didn’t. I wasn’t like that.”

You tried not to smile. “The whole borough, huh?”

His head jerked toward you, eyes wide. “Wait—are you… are you mad?”

“What? No,” you said quickly, brows lifting.

“You sure?” he asked again, more desperate now. “Because I never—look, I wasn’t just screwing around back then, okay? I didn’t sleep with that many people. And I haven’t been with anyone since and I’m not—I mean, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Your breath caught for a second. But you didn’t say anything.

Because your brain was not registering any of that.

Not the panic in his voice. Not the low, sincere way he said to you like it meant something.

All you could think about was what Steve said.

Legs shaking. Worship. Magic mouth.

You were still stuck on that phrase like a scratch on a record.

You let a beat pass. Just long enough to watch the flush creeping up his neck, the nervous dart of his eyes, the way he seemed to be running through every decision he’d ever made since 1943.

“I just didn’t know you were into that,” you said lightly, brushing invisible lint from your sleeve like you hadn’t just learned something that would haunt you tonight in your sheets.

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, clearly spiraling. “I—I didn’t mean for that to sound like I was bragging or anything. I don’t know where Steve heard that stuff. I mean, yeah, I used to, but not—It wasn’t like I slept around. I didn’t. I swear I never—”

“Bucky,” you cut in gently, offering a little smile. “It’s really okay.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nodded once, calm and even. “No hard feelings.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, apologize again, dig his way out of a guilt hole he didn’t even need to be in. But you didn’t give him the chance.

You stepped back toward the door, glancing at him over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you at dinner.”

And then you slipped inside, perfectly composed.

—

Your expression didn’t crack until you turned the corner, heat blooming across your face like a slow, wicked fire.

He used to love it.

He might still be good at it.

He thinks you’re mad about his past… and you’re just thinking about his mouth between your legs.

You pressed your hand against the wall, heart thundering.

Now all you needed was the right moment.

The right excuse.

Something casual. Natural.

Just a little something to get James Buchanan Barnes on his knees.

—

You kept your distance for six days.

Six entire, aching days.

Dinner that night? You smiled. Ate. Laughed with Sam. Passed the mashed potatoes like nothing had changed. Bucky sat across from you, silent and painfully upright, like he was ready for a cross-examination that never came.

The next day? You greeted him with a nod in the hallway. Kept your tone even, your posture casual. Bucky watched you like a man waiting for the world to fall out from under him.

And the day after that? You brushed past him near the weapons locker, arm grazing his on accident—only to duck into the training room before he could open his mouth.

He kept trying. Eyes lingering, mouth parting every time he got you alone for even a second. But you never gave him the space.

Because what were you supposed to say?

Hey, Bucky. You want to eat my cunt sometime? Because I’ve been thinking about it for many nights and I’m dangerously close to humping the corner of my pillow just to cope?

Yeah, no.

So you waited. And stewed. And tried not to fantasize.

But your body had other plans.

By day six, your hormones had you spiraling. You caught yourself grinding your thighs together during debriefing. Sweating during sparring. Biting your lip when Bucky scratched his jaw and muttered something under his breath, not even directed at you.

Day seven, you cracked.

Over lunch, with the team distracted, you leaned close to him—so casual—and said,

“Come to my unit after dinner.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

You nodded, eyes steady. “Just for a bit.”

And that was all it took.

—

He showed up at your door just past nine. Dressed down in a fitted black tee and dark sweats. Hair tucked behind his ears. Smiling.

Not smirking. Not flirty. Just… happy.

You didn’t know it yet, but he thought this was a date. A real one. The first of many.

You let him in and made small talk. Let him sit on the couch like always. Let him pull you into his lap the way he always did when it was just the two of you and there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

Then you kissed him.

Slow. Familiar. But deeper.

His hands came to your thighs, dragging up under the hem of your oversized shirt as your knees bracketed his hips. He groaned softly into your mouth when you rolled against him—pressing down, grinding slow and needy right into the heat of his lap.

Then he froze.

You could feel it. The shift. The exact moment he realized there was nothing between you and his pants. No shorts. No panties. Just your bare, wet cunt dragging over the thick line of his cock through cotton.

Bucky broke the kiss, his hands halting on your thighs.

His voice came out hoarse.

“Doll… are you—are you not wearing anything?”

You blushed, chest rising slowly. “No.”

His eyes widened, hand clenching against your skin. “Since when?”

“Since before you got here.”

“Jesus,” he whispered, like it physically hurt him.

You pressed your forehead against his. Voice trembling now, but not from nerves.

“I’ve been thinking about it. Ever since Steve said that thing on the balcony.”

His brows lifted. “About… my mouth?”

You nodded. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You shifted your hips again. Let him feel the wet drag of your folds against his cock. He sucked in a sharp breath, hands locking tighter on your waist.

“Baby,” he rasped, “are you sure this is what you want? Not just—y’know, ‘cause you’re upset or… jealous or—”

That was the moment it snapped. The misunderstanding, the buried truth, the weeks and months of aching.

Your brow furrowed.

“Jealous? Bucky, I don’t have any right to be jealous. We’re not… together.”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we’re just…” You swallowed. “I thought we were just fooling around. Friends with benefits or something.”

His face went still.

“Wait,” he said. “You thought that’s what we were?”

You nodded slowly.

“I thought we were dating,” he said quietly. “I thought we were just taking it slow. You said at the barbecue that you’re traditional. I figured that meant you were saving sex until… marriage or something.”

You stared at him, lips parting. “I—no. I just didn’t want to sleep with someone who didn’t take me seriously.”

Bucky’s mouth hung open for a second. Then he let out a short, breathless laugh—somewhere between disbelief and relief.

“We’re idiots,” you said, and started laughing too.

He buried his face in your neck and laughed along with you, arms wrapping tighter around your waist.

“You’ve been my boyfriend this whole time without me even knowing?” you teased.

He pulled back, brushing his nose against yours. “Guess that makes it official now.”

“Good,” you whispered. “Because now you’ve got even more reason to go down on me.”

His lips parted. You kissed him before he could speak.

—

What followed wasn’t fast.

It wasn’t wild.

It was reverent.

Bucky laid you back on the couch like you were made of silk and starlight, one hand supporting your back while the other guided your thighs open. He settled between them like it was where he was always meant to be—kneeling, breath shaky, eyes dark.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, thumbing along the inside of your knee. His voice was low. Full of awe.

You reached for him—but he kissed your thigh instead. Then again. And again. Slow, warm, deliberate. His stubble scraped lightly along your skin, the contrast enough to make you squirm, already sensitive from the slow grind you’d shared minutes before.

“Easy, baby,” he murmured. “Just wanna take my time with you. You deserve that.”

Then he ducked lower.

And when he pressed his tongue to your cunt—broad and unhurried—it felt like the world melted into heat and wet and sound. You gasped, hips twitching, fingers curling into the couch cushions.

Bucky moaned into you. Actually moaned.

“God, you taste like fucking honey,” he rasped, licking another slow, deliberate stripe between your folds. “So sweet, baby. Dripping for me.”

He dragged his tongue through your slick again, groaning like the taste alone could undo him. And then he slurped—an unashamed, filthy sound that made your eyes roll back.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, voice thick and desperate. “Can’t believe I waited this long.”

His tongue circled your clit—steady, patient, focused. Then he sucked. A low, wet pull that sent shockwaves down your spine. You cried out, thighs shaking already, but Bucky didn’t stop. He wrapped his lips around that swollen bud and sucked again, swirling his tongue in small, practiced motions like he’d studied every curve, every pattern of how your body trembled for him.

“I knew you’d be perfect,” he breathed. “So fucking soft. So warm. Look at this pussy, baby. Look how wet she is for me.”

You whined, head thrown back, chest heaving—and he didn’t let up.

He licked you like it was his only purpose. Like he’d spent years thinking about this. Dreaming of this. His tongue flicked quick, then slow, then down—dipping into your entrance, fucking in and out with soft, rhythmic strokes that made your back arch off the couch.

“Oh my god—Bucky—”

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Let me hear those pretty sounds. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me, baby. Feels like I’m high off this fucking pussy.”

You could hear how wet it was. The obscene, slick sounds of his tongue lapping, his lips sucking, the gentle stubble burn brushing your inner thighs with every move. He kept you wide, kept you steady, like he didn’t want to miss a second—like this was something sacred to him.

And when your thighs started to tremble, when your hips bucked once—twice—he held you still with a firm grip of his metal hand on your stomach.

“Let go, sweetheart,” he whispered, licking up your slit with one slow, heavenly stroke. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

And you did.

You shattered.

Came hard. Loud. Thighs clenching around his head while he groaned and kept sucking, kept licking through it, pushing you higher until your whole body was shaking.

He didn’t stop. Not until he pulled a second orgasm from you with nothing but his mouth and your name falling from his lips like praise.

When he finally eased up—mouth slick, lips swollen, beard shining with your release—he kissed your thighs again. Tender. Adoring. Like he still wasn’t done worshipping you.

Then he climbed up your body, settling over you slowly, his hands gentle where they cradled your hips.

His forehead pressed to yours. He was smiling—dazed and soft and breathless.

You blinked at him, heart still pounding.

“So that’s what all the rumors were about.”

Bucky chuckled, voice low and hoarse.

“They didn’t even know half of it.”

[thedevilworkshardnheskickngmyass]

SHOULD'VE SAID IT | Clark Kent

Pairing: david corenswet!clark kent x f!reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Summary: after having a fight at work with your boyfriend, clark, you go to his apartment in hopes of making amends. what you don't expect is to find out he's been keeping a big secret from you, leaving you with a mix of emotions

Warnings: none

Masaterlist/Request Form | Ask Box

A/N: my first ever clark kent/superman fic!!! ahhh, how exciting! I saw superman in theaters a few weeks back and still have yet to move on from it (I don't think I ever will, truly). I don't know why but this specific fic idea has been cooking in my mind since, so here it is! I hope you all enjoy because I know I definitely enjoyed writing it! I for sure will be writing more for david's superman in the future :)

The sweet smell of warm hot chocolate wafts through the air and you swear in this moment you can feel the weight of the day fall off your shoulders because of it.

Life isn't easy being a journalist, especially not at The Daily Planet, and especially not when you get into an argument with your coworker who also just so happens to be the man you're falling deeply in love with.

Yeah, you definitely need this hot chocolate right now.

You'd like to say you don't even know how the argument started, but that would be a lie, and you're nothing if not honest. It was all because of...well, Superman. And looking back on it now you wish you never would've said anything at all, especially knowing how it ended up. With you and Clark on the verge of a screaming match and in front of your coworkers nonetheless. The memory of it makes you wince. You don't even know who those people were back in that bullpen, but you know for certain it wasn't you and Clark. Those people are unrecognizable and so unlike you both.

Everything got too out of hand. You shouldn't have started probing at the fact Clark always gets exclusives with the Man of Steel, and in reality he shouldn't have been so defensive about it. Is it wrong to just want to know why the two are so close? Is it wrong to just want one interview with the man who's saved so many innocent lives? You don't think so, and you thought Clark wouldn't either.

Either way, you're over it now and realize you both reacted poorly. Which is why you've found yourself standing in Clark's kitchen in his rather fancy high rise apartment in Metropolis. He gave you his spare key around a month ago and even though you're upset with each other, you hope when he finally walks through his front door that he won't be upset you used it. You've dropped in like this countless times before, but never after an instance like this. You pray that he won't immediately ask you to leave, but knowing Clark, you also doubt he would ever do that.

Grabbing ahold of your mug, you go to make your way towards Clark's living room. Not even a second after taking your first step, something catches your eye. No, it's not the metahuman battle that appears to still be raging on outside (you noticed that on the way over here), instead it's something entirely different.

Taking another step closer, you try to get a better look at the rather large figure making its way towards Clark's living room windows. It's dark in here and the neon glow coming from the battle outside isn't helping much, but once the figure is close enough, there's no mistaking what—no, who—it is.

It's...Superman? What in the world would Superman be doing here? There's no imminent danger, and if he was here for yet another exclusive he's out of luck because Clark isn't even—

Your eyes go wide and suddenly it feels very hard to breathe as the pieces of a puzzle you've been trying to solve for months begin to snap into place. You're grateful the hero hasn't seemed to notice you yet because it gives you a moment to take in his obvious comfortability in the space—a comfortability you'd only have if you lived here—further proving your suspicion. Superman's not here for an exclusive interview with Clark because he is Clark.

"Oh my God," you whisper. Your voice is so quiet you're not even sure you really spoke out loud, but you must've because in an instant Superman's—no, Clark's—eyes flick towards you, his attention fully on you now.

You watch as his own eyes go wide at the discovery of you in his apartment, something he undoubtedly was not expecting tonight. His piercing blue gaze is even more so in this low light, especially without his black framed glasses. The glasses you never could've thought would be hiding so much behind them.

Clark goes to make a move towards you, his mouth opening up to say something, when suddenly your cup of hot chocolate slips from your grip and shatters to the floor, your shaking hands no longer being stable enough to hold onto it.

The ceramic pieces fly in different directions across the kitchen floor and you waste no time in following the mug to the ground to try and pick up the fragments. You don't even care about the hot liquid clinging to your fingers as you grab the shards, you just need something to distract you from the absolute bombshell that's been dropped before you.

You don't have to look up to know Clark's come rushing towards you. You hear his red boots swiftly trek across the hardwood floor and in the corner of your eye you see a flash of the blue in his suit as he kneels beside you. His sudden proximity consumes you and your head feels like it's spinning as you try to ignore the fact you can smell the familiar scent of your boyfriend.

"Hey, don't worry about it. It's okay, I can clean it up. You're gonna cut yourself on the broken pieces."

It's the first time you've heard Clark's voice in hours and it sounds both unfamiliar and comforting all at the same time. He's this completely new person but also he's not. He's the dorky coworker you fell for at The Daily Planet, he's the man who's kind to everyone even when they may not deserve it, he's the boyfriend who refuses to let you get the door for yourself or carry your own groceries in. He's Clark. He's your Clark.

So then why do you feel so blindsided? So unnerved? Sure, you guys haven't been dating for that long, but it's been long enough where you've gotten to the point of sharing spare keys and becoming accustomed to sleeping next to each other than not. Neither of those things compare to having the knowledge your partner is a super hero, but you still thought it meant something. That it proved something. Showed that you two were more than casual, that you were in it for the long haul and were at a spot where you believed to know everything about each other.

Not everything, apparently.

There must be a mistake, you think. But then the raven-haired man reaches out and grabs your wrist, his touch so light and gentle, so unmistakably Clark that it has your mind reeling even further.

On instinct your eyes flit up and are instantly met with a pair of crystal blue ones you've come to practically memorize. It startles you how obvious it is that they're Clark's eyes. You can't believe you never noticed it before. You've talked to Superman a few times, enough to know he too has blue eyes, but it never connected in your brain. Even with all the doubts and suspicions you had, you never even considered the fact a clue.

You feel so silly thinking about it all now. How could you not have figured it out? Do your friends at work know? Does Jimmy? Does Lois? Is that why they always seem so unaffected when Clark goes MIA and then comes back like nothing happened? Are you the only one Clark didn't trust with this information?

A pit begins to form in your stomach and suddenly these eyes you're looking into no longer give you the same comfort you're constantly finding in them.

Tearing your gaze away, you get up from your spot on the floor, Clark's hand slipping from your wrist in the process. You try to ignore the way your body immediately misses the warmth of him in response.

Tears begin to well up in your eyes and you have to fight the urge to let them fall as you turn towards the sink to dump the broken pieces of the mug into it. In a dramatic way, it feels almost like you're dumping the pieces of your heart instead.

So, when you see Clark stand up from the floor, his tall frame hovering over you as a result, you don't give him the courtesy of a response. Not even as he calls out your name in a way that makes you want to stop in your tracks and run back to his arms. Not even after you close the door behind yourself and hear Clark knock his forehead into the door in defeat.

It's only once the elevator doors close and you're alone do you finally let the tears fall.

*****

It's been two days since you found out Clark Kent is Superman.

The fact still sounds weird as it bounces around inside your head, but it's a fact nonetheless, one you are still struggling to come to terms with.

Part of you recognizes that you've realistically known this for a while now, but another part thinks maybe you didn't want to believe it. Didn't want to believe your cute, clumsy coworker is actually a super-powered alien from another planet. Didn't want to believe the man you love is out there risking his life every day for people who don't even truly know him.

Even though you're hurt Clark kept this secret from you, you still find yourself aching to speak with him, but at the same time want some distance from him as well. Either way the choice has already been made for you because for the past two days Clark hasn't been at work. His desk across from you has sat empty and no one seems to know where he is when you ask, but also no one seems concerned.

This just seems like more proof to you that your inner circle is more in tune with Clark's double life than you are, but you didn't dare say anything incase maybe they actually don't know and just genuinely don't care where he is, too wrapped up in their articles and deadlines. You may be upset with Clark, but you would never betray him like that.

Stepping out of a local jewelry shop, you hit stop on your recorder. Ironically, the place was almost robbed last night before Superman apparently swooped in and caught the burglars before they even got a foot out the door. Perry put you on the article and even though the timing was a bit ironic, you accepted it wholeheartedly. Anything to get out in the field and get some good journalistic content. Even if it does hurt your heart a little to discuss the superhero with a stranger, as if you don't know who he is at all.

The streets are packed as you start to make your way back to The Daily Planet, as they usually are. You always find it a little difficult to navigate the streets, especially when you're constantly shoulder to shoulder with someone. Today is no exception.

Attempting to usher off to the edge of the sidewalk, a place where you can sort of have some breathing room, you open your bag to place your recorder safely back inside.

Your zipper gets caught on the seam of your bag, and before you even get the chance to begin yanking on it, someone rushes past you and knocks into your shoulder, causing your bag to slip off your arm and send your recorder flying.

Awh, crap!

You watch in horror as the handheld device soars through the air for a second before landing back on the ground and starts practically bouncing into the street. Thankfully you don't immediately notice any broken pieces flying off of it, but that's not to say it hasn't suffered any damage.

Quickly grabbing your bag off the sidewalk, you slip it back on your shoulder and look both ways before stepping out onto the road. Car horns beep around you but thankfully none beep at you. Traffic seems to be stopped and it gives you the perfect moment to step further out and reach for your recorder.

As you reach down and grab the device in your hand, your attention is immediately ripped away from it as you begin to hear screeching tires and not-so-distant police sirens. You barely life your head up before your eyes are met with the front bumper of a car that's going way above the speed limit.

There isn't even a second for your body to react to the situation. You feel a scream start to build in the back of your throat when you're suddenly hit with an impact, the sound dying much in a way you think you are going to.

You thought being hit by a car would be more painful, but surprisingly you feel nothing at all. If anything you feel weightless, almost like you're...flying?

Instantly, your eyes snap open and you come to realize you actually are flying. The impact you felt wasn't the car slamming into you. It was Superman.

Your body tightens in fear in response, never having been in a position like this before. You know Superman would never let any harm come to you—or anyone for that matter—but that still doesn't make what's happening any easier.

Attempting to turn your head to at least get a look at the man that currently has you wrapped in his arms, it becomes clear you can't do that, the wind whipping against your face and making it seem impossible to do anything but wrap yourself tighter around him. You decide to not fight it, finding you much prefer staying safe in Superman's embrace than trying to get a look at him and whatever's going on around you.

In practically no time at all, you feel your body begin to slip free from the hero's grip and find purchase on the ground below you, the wind no longer streaming through your hair and giving your face slight windburn, the fear finally vanishing from your body.

"Are you okay?" The low timber of your boyfriend's voice rumbles through you, the sound something you found yourself missing over the past 48 hours—even if you tried not to.

"Y-yeah, I'm okay. Thank you." Your voice is weak compared to his, and you can't quite seem to meet his eye just yet, your body recovering from the sudden impact and unprompted flying session.

It's takes a second for you to find your equilibrium again, but of course Superman is there to keep you steady as you do. The moment you are steady, though, his grip is gone from your arms and he takes a step back, almost like he doesn't want to cross a boundary or make you uncomfortable. You have to repress the frown that wants to break free on your lips at the thought that the two of you are at a point where he thinks that's necessary. As if you still don't crave his touch.

Finally feeling like you're able to, you take a look around at your surroundings. It seems like the Man of Steel has brought you up to a rooftop in the middle of Metropolis. You can see the city spread wide around you no matter what direction you look, but even better there's not a single soul around you both. There's no one up here but the two of you and in this moment of privacy—and with the sun fully out this time—you're able to get a good look at the man before you.

Of course you know what Superman looks like, what Clark looks like, but unlike that night in his apartment you can really see him now. You can see the difference in his confidence. The way he stands taller, unlike how he hunches at work as if he's trying to take up as little space as possible. His hair is different too, slicked back instead of a mess of curls. You appreciate this look, can tell why it's different, but at the same time you still see that nerdy farm boy under it all.

No matter what he wears or what he looks like, the man before you is still the sweet guy from Kansas you met at work. The way he's looking at you now makes it that much more obvious too. He may be Superman on the outside right now, but inside he's Clark, and all he wants is to be with you now and figure out this mess he's found himself in.

You can practically see the thoughts racing through his mind as he stands in front of you. Can see the way he wants to reach for you and explain everything. He may be a super hero, but he's still just as human as you are. He has feelings and you know your silence the other day probably sent him spiraling. The thought makes your heart squeeze in regret. You shouldn't have freaked out so bad, felt so betrayed. You know Clark cares for you just as much as you care for him, and you should've let him explain himself. He hurt you, but it never even crossed your mind that you might've hurt him in return.

"Clar—I mean, Superman," You shake your head, catching your mistake and correcting yourself, feeling like you're not sure where to begin or even how to begin.

"It's okay," Clark says, cutting you off. He can tell you're a little nervous, that you're trekking in uncharted waters and you're not sure how to approach him when he looks like this. That you're not sure how to approach him in a situation like this. He continues, wanting to ease your mind even just a little bit. "You can say my name. Just because I look like this right now doesn't mean I'm not still Clark. You don't have to change for me, I know this might be weird for you."

You nod your head, your eyes finally drifting up towards his. His gaze isn't hard like you're used to seeing when Superman's picture hits the papers, like he's on a mission to save the world. No, right now in this moment, they're soft, like the two of you have just gotten off a long day of work and are finally reunited over cartons of takeout and only inches remain between you on the couch.

"I'm sorry—"

"I'm sorry—"

The two of you start speaking at the same time, both of you letting out a breathy laugh over it. It feels normal, right, after the past few days you've had. As if there's no apprehension between you both and that you're still his as much as he's still yours. Clark blushes over the interaction and you find it endearing that you can have this effect on him even as he's Superman. Who knew even the Man of Steel can't resist the way you make him feel.

"Go ahead, you go first," you say, your voice coming out soft, almost timid. You're anything but, though as you stand before your boyfriend and see nothing but love and concern on his face. If you're sure of anything, it's that the two of you will get through this. You have to, you need to.

"I'm sorry about what happened at work the other day. I just got freaked out when you started asking so many questions about my interviews. I was worried you were catching on and I didn't know how to handle that. I shouldn't have gotten so upset with you like that, you didn't deserve it. I understand now that it probably comes off as unfair that I do get those interviews and I mean, well, now you know it is technically unfair—"

"And unethical," you cut in, letting out a laugh as well so Clark knows you're only joking. Sort of.

"And unethical," he chuckles. "But even still, you had a right to know more or at least get a better explanation, and I didn't give that to you. As for the other night at my apartment...gosh, I don't even know where to begin. I-I'm sorry you had to find out like that. I've thought it over countless times in my head about how I would want you to find out and it was definitely not like how it actually happened. It must've been so weird for you to see me just fly in like that. To have this information be dropped on you out of nowhere. I can't even imagine how scared of me you must've been—"

Your eyes go wide at his last comment. You take note of how his head drops slightly, as if remembering a past negative experience. Clark looks almost as if he's afraid of seeing your reaction to him, of who he is. As if he's afraid you're going to run away at any moment and out of his life forever, the burden of this secret too much to bear.

"Clark, I could never be scared of you." You rush over to your boyfriend, breaking the distance he's placed between you. Your hands cup his face instantly, and you practically melt as his hands find your waist in response. "Finding out you're Superman doesn't scare me, and I hope you know that anyone who's scared of you just doesn't know how extraordinary you really are. What you do and what you are capable of is something to be proud of. You've saved so many lives in the time you've been here and you ask for nothing in return. There are not many people who would do that. So no, Clark, I'm not scared of you. I'm proud of you."

In an instant you find yourself wrapped in Clark's arms, his face buried in your neck. You accept the embrace wholeheartedly, missing the way he somehow holds you so tightly and softly all at the same time. You hope he can tell how much love you're pouring into this hug. He deserves to be loved, not in spite of who he is, but because of who he is. Super powers or not, Clark Kent is an incredible person and he deserves to know that.

Even though you find your heart feeling so full in this moment, there's still that nagging insecurity at the back of your mind wondering why Clark didn't feel like he could tell you his secret. Why did an accident have to happen for you to finally find out? How much more time would have passed before it eventually came to light?

Pulling back slightly, you catch the hero's eye and decide to speak your mind. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? Did-Did you not trust me?"

You hate the way your voice cracks halfway through your question, showing your vulnerability. It hurts to know that Clark loves you so much and yet somehow still didn't trust you enough to tell you something so monumental.

"No, sweetheart, no!" It's your boyfriend's turn to cup you face this time, his thumbs coming up to wipe away stray tears you didn't even realize began to fall. "I trust you completely, that wasn't the problem. I just-I was just scared of what would happen if you did find out."

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion at his admission. "Why? Did you think I would tell someone? I swear I would never do that to you, Clark! I will never—"

"I wasn't scared of what you would do. I was scared of what other people would do. I was worried that if you knew it would make you a target in a way. I'm not perfect, I make mistakes, and if the wrong person found out who I was, who knows what they would've done to get information out of the girl I love. I felt it was better to keep you in the dark and as safe as possible. I see now that that probably wasn't my best idea, I should've said it, should've told you sooner, but it's what I felt was right at the time."

Your breath gets caught in your throat and you can feel the emotion beginning to well in your eyes again, but this time not out of insecurity, but out of love. Clark didn't tell you because he wanted to protect you, not because he didn't trust you. An action you thought was done out of mistrust was actually one done out of all the trust and love in the world. You feel silly now for ever even doubting Clark.

"I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions about why you didn't tell me. I should've known you weren't telling me for a good reason. I just got so in my head about it all. I was worried I did something wrong to make you think you couldn't trust me. And all the stuff back at The Daily Planet? God, I shouldn't have brought any of the Superman stuff up! I let my journalist brain get in the way and I just kept pushing you. And back at your apartment? I should've let you explain instead of just running off. You were going to tell me everything and I didn't even give you the chance." You groan, laughing slightly as you drop your head onto Clark's chest, your forehead pressed against the "S" adorning it. "We really made a mess of things, huh, Kent?"

"We sure did, baby." Clark chuckles and you revel in the way you can feel his chest rumble beneath you because of it. "I'm glad we had this talk, though. I don't want there to be any uncertainty between us. I trust and love you fully, you know that, right?"

"Absolutely," you nod. "And I agree. No more secrets, from either of us."

"No more secrets," Clark agrees. "Moving forward, now that you know I'm Superman, we just need to be careful. I don't want anything to happen to you. It can be dangerous out there, and I know me being in your life is a lot to take on considering who I am, but I hope you'll still have me."

Clark's cheeks are a soft pink and you adore the fact he looks so bashful, as if he's asking you out for the first time again. Being in a relationship with a super hero is sure to come with it's challenges, but you'd take on anything for Clark Kent, no matter what.

"I'll have you forever and then some, Clark Kent." You smile and the man before you revels in it, smiling right back at you.

"Good," he says, leaning down slightly before continuing. "That means I can still do this."

Before you get a chance to question what he means by that, you find yourself with his lips on yours and in an instant the past few days fade away to nothing. You may know about Clark's alter ego now, but he's still the same man you've come to love. He's still your farm boy journalist and no super powers will change that. If anything, they just add to his charm and what makes him so endearing. It's funny because you didn't think that was even possible. Clark Kent even more perfect in your eyes? Who would've thought.

You begin to smile into the kiss and Clark pulls back, intrigued. "What is it? What are you thinking about?"

There's no hesitation when you answer him, eyes sparkling, smile somehow even bigger: "You."

Your boyfriend wastes no time reconnecting his lips with yours, wanting nothing more than to be close to you in any way possible right now. It's not even a second later when you feel him reach down and scoop you up off the ground, a giddy yelp leaving your lips as he does so. You can feel the two of you begin to float up in the air, but the fear of possibly falling is the furthest thing from your mind as you tangle your fingers in Clark's hair and relish in the way his kiss makes you feel.

The bliss lasts for only so long, though. Suddenly, sirens can be heard in the distance and it's not long before an explosion follows. The two of you break apart and by the look on Clark's face, you can tell duty calls.

"I'm sorry, I-I have to go," The raven-haired man looks disappointed, not because he has to go save the city once more, but because he has to leave you behind and run off like he's done so many times before, especially so soon after your reconciliation.

"Don't be sorry," you ease, cupping his jaw with your hand. "Never be sorry for being a hero. I'll see you later, and at least now I know where you're always running off to."

The both of you laugh and Clark tightens his grip on you before saying, "Hold on!"

One moment you're floating steadily in the air, the next you're soaring through it at what feels like the speed of light. This time you knew it was coming, but you still find yourself clinging to the Man of Steel like your life depends on it.

You're back on the ground in a flash and, just like before, Superman is there to steady you as you regain your balance. Of course your entrance has garnered some stares, onlookers averting their attention towards the two of you and their phones swiftly following suit. Clark—er, Superman, takes a step back once he's sure you're settled, not wanting his touch to linger any longer than necessary with so many eyes on you.

"So, you're sure you're okay, Miss?" The blue-eyed hero clears his throat and nods his head towards you.

Oh, I get it, you think, a smile adorning your lips.

"Yes, absolutely. Thank you for saving me, Superman." A knowing smirk pops up on your boyfriend's lips and you have to fight back the urge to kiss it off him.

"Anytime. Stay safe out there," he says before getting into a stance that you know means he's about to take off into the sky again.

"You too," you reply, blushing as you watch Superman wink at you before soaring up into the clouds, off to save the day once again.

Oohs and aahs echo around you as the people of Metropolis watch the city's hero fly through the sky. Resuming your trek back to The Daily Planet, you chuckle and shake your head at the sight of it, thinking about how crazy it is that the very man they're fawning over is your boyfriend. A lot has happened over these past few days, but you honestly wouldn't have it any other way.

Go be the hero they need, Clark, you think. I'll be right here on the ground when you come back down.

[thedevilworkshardnheskickngmyass]

Let Your Big Brother Take Care of You

SUMMARY: While visiting your stepbrother at college, you have a hard time falling asleep after some drunken mishaps. He helps you out.

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

WARNINGS/ADDITIONAL INFO: Smut 🔞, dubcon, stepcest, intoxication, fingering, comfort sex kinda??, gratuitous mention of Taco Bell

Beta read by @sasybanana

Actually visiting with your step-brother had been the last thing on your mind when you told your parents that you would be visiting him this weekend. Sure, you got along fine, but you barely knew each other and it felt like he was moving out for college as soon as your families joined. Instead, you were hellbent on finding the best partying and hooking up opportunities his film school had to offer. Framing it as a sisterly visit and a chance to learn about campus life was purely an excuse to convince your parents to let you travel on your own, which they seemed to buy as you were headed off to school yourself next year. Besides, Neil had an off campus apartment you could crash at, which would be cheaper than a hotel.

He greeted you with a hug as you entered and set your stuff down, instantly being assaulted by the scent of unwashed laundry and old weed smoke. Still, it was comfortable enough, and was a nice taste of freedom from your mom’s house.

“So, my baby sister wants to visit me for the weekend, for reasons not at all related to my school’s reputation as a party campus?” He smirked as you situated yourself.

“Of course! Just like how my big brother spends all the money he gets from our parents on textbooks and tuition.” you shot back.

“Touché. Well, whatever trouble you’re determined to get into, fuck, I dunno, be smart about it. Use condoms, don’t get drugged. Don’t drink so much that you puke, or at least, try to puke somewhere other than carpet.”

“Wow… so caring.” you rolled your eyes as you headed to the bathroom to get ready for the evening. You snatched a flyer off of a phone pole for a house party, and the directions you got off google said it was only a few blocks away. As soon as you had your heels and your lashes on, you were off.

**********************************************************************************

Stumbling back to Neil’s apartment with your heels in your hand, the night had been a bust. You finished too many mystery drinks too fast and ended up puking in the lap of the one guy who was interested in you, locked yourself in the bathroom to cry for the better part of an hour, and bolted for the door as soon as you pulled yourself together. Thank fuck Neil had the first apartment on the first floor, otherwise you might not have been able to find it in your impaired state.

The door was unlocked, and Neil hadn’t moved from his place on the couch in the hours that you had been gone, presumably wrapped up in whatever it is that he does in his spare time (Watch movies? Play video games? Jerk off? You really didn’t know). This was fine, you really didn’t need him noticing you at the moment. You tried to enter quietly, but tripped over yourself as you moved.

“Holy shit, are you okay?”

Neil rushed over to you to make sure you weren’t hurt. Unable to form words, you started crying again when you met his gaze, big fat mascara tears rolling down your cheeks. Even as he helped you to stand, you wobbled on your way up and had to lean on him for support.

“How much did you have to drink?”

“Dunno… a lot.” It was true, you had chugged whatever you were handed and helped yourself to a variety of half-finished cups that were abandoned by their owners. You had never drank this much before, and had no idea how much was too much until it was too late.

“Shit, um, let’s get you to the bed. The room is yours tonight, don’t worry about it. Do you think you can walk that far?” There was genuine concern in his tone, even if he was a bit panicked and clueless. He looped an arm around your waist and guided you as best he could to the tiny room. Your flop onto the twin bed wasn’t exactly graceful, but landing on a mattress was about a thousand times more comfortable than landing on the floor.

As soon as Neil turned to leave, you began fighting your way out of your tight, itchy dress. Unfortunately, the zipper was stuck (damn cheap clothing) and the garment was too fitted to pull over your head. Refusing to spend any more time stuck in scratchy fabric hell (Seriously, Forever 21, who sells unlined sequined dresses?), you continued wrestling with the zipper and wiggling to find a better angle until you rolled off the bed and landed with a thud. Not knowing what else to do, you shouted for your stepbrother.

The worried look on his face quickly turned into an eye roll as he entered the room and saw you on the floor again.

“So are you like… determined to spend the whole night down there? Undeniably attracted to shitty carpeting? Horny for the floor?” Having a laugh at your drunken expense might not have been the nicest thing for Neil to do, but you were being such a handful tonight.

“I can’t get my dress off,” you sheepishly mumbled as you avoided his gaze. “The zipper’s stuck and I need your help.”

“Hey, hey, it’s fine.” Neil soothed as he knelt down to meet you on the floor. “If anything, I’m flattered… Usually I have to buy a girl dinner before she even thinks of asking me to undress her.”

You shot him an unamused glare, but nonetheless turned and leaned towards him so he could reach the zipper. His touch was warm and gentle as he fiddled with the impossibly tiny hook-and-eye clasp atop the zipper, one hand gently pressed against your upper back to steady you while the other went to work. Before you knew it, the dress slackened and you were able to free yourself from its confines, modesty be damned.

“A tiny little dress and no bra? You really were planning to have fun tonight.” You were still turned away from Neil and couldn’t see his face, but you could hear the grin in his voice.

“It has built-in cups, pervert!” you huffed as you rushed to cover yourself. You groped around for a t-shirt or something before remembering that you were in an unfamiliar room and not at home. “Get out, I just wanna sleep.”

“That doesn’t explain the little lacy panties, though.” Neil let his eyes trail over you before tossing you one of his own shirts. It was true, you had gone out partying with the hope of hooking up as quickly and anonymously as possible, but you weren’t going to admit that. All you wanted was to gain a little sexual experience of your own before heading out to college, but now the only boy to see you naked was your weird stepbrother. “And I’m not leaving you alone tonight. You can’t even stand and I’ve had to help you up twice. You’re too much of a mess to be alone.”

He helped you onto the bed again, only this time he climbed in behind you after hitting the light. The bed was small enough that there was almost no choice but to snuggle up to him, using his shoulder as a pillow. As weird as the whole situation was, it felt nice having him there, like a grounding tether against the spinning sensation in your head.

“For what it’s worth, I thought you looked really cute tonight. Before all the puking and crying and falling, I mean.” He chuckled softly and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. As sweet as the gesture was, you couldn’t ignore the growing gurgle in your stomach.

“Neil… I want Taco Bell.”

“I’ll buy you all the Taco Bell in the world tomorrow if you settle down and go to sleep.”

“Okay…” you buried your face into the crook between Neil’s neck and shoulder as he pulled you closer and idly rubbed your back. You couldn’t help but moan softly at the sensation, which Neil tried his hardest to ignore.

Had you been a little more awake or a little more sober, you might’ve noticed the hitch in Neil’s breath as his hand trailed up and down your back, or the way his hand soon opened into a flat palm and started exploring lower, dangerously close to the waistband of your panties. Instead, you continued to lay silently, dozing off as his hand inched lower.

Eventually, his hand made its way to your ass and cupped the supple flesh. Feeling emboldened by your lack of response, Neil began to squeeze and knead. This made you squirm away, but in doing so, you were met with the perfect amount of friction as your clothed pussy rubbed against Neil’s thigh. Neither of you had realized just how closely you were snuggled together until now, when it dawned on you both what was happening.

Part of you panicked, part of you realizing that this was wrong through your drunken haze, but another part of you only cared that you were being touched, and it felt pleasurable. That was the whole reason you made this trip, right? you rationalized to yourself as you attempted to grind against your stepbrother’s thigh a second time. 

Instead of being met with the delicious friction, you felt Neil shift beneath you. Did you fuck this up? Were you just imagining his hand on your ass? But before you could worry any further, he was rolling you onto your back with his thick, firm leg pressing between your thighs and spreading them, and the unmistakable poking of his erection against the spot where your hip met your belly. He pushed his thigh against you, inviting you to grind it.

“Is this what my horny little sister needs? Can’t fall asleep without coming?” His voice was low and husky, in equal parts from being half asleep and his obvious arousal. You were starting to transition from drunk to hungover, feeling more drowsy and dizzy than anything else, and the most you could answer with was a pathetic little whimper as he nudged you.

You rubbed yourself against him as best you could, unable to find just the right angle from the new position you were placed in. In a fit of frustration, you tried pushing Neil off of you so you could rub yourself with your hand, but he was deceptively strong and had you pinned.

“Neeeeeeeeeiiiillllll” you whined, once again wondering if this was all a mistake, maybe you should just try to fall asleep and forget this ever happened. Forget the whole night ever happened. Change your name, move across the country, and never talk to anyone who witnessed tonight ever again.

“Shhhh, it’s alright, just lie there and let your big brother take care of you.”

Just lying there was about all you could do as Neil snaked one of arms between your legs, stroking your folds through your panties a bit aimlessly before gathering the courage to reach beneath the cloth and explore further. After a bit of awkward poking around, he found your clit and began circling it gently with his fingertips, eliciting another whimper, this time of pleasure.

“See? I know exactly what you need. M’gonna play with your little pussy until you relax and fall asleep, like a good girl.” His fingers began teasing your slit, tracing up and down its length without daring to breach inside. It never would have occurred to you that Neil would know his way around pussy, he never brought any girls home when he lived with you. He must’ve gotten a lot of practice after moving out, because the way his fingers were just barely ghosting over you was driving you crazy in a way you couldn’t understand. You wanted him to stop, you wanted him to continue exactly what he was doing, you wanted him to start giving you more. All you knew was that you wanted him, and for him to keep touching you.

As if he could read your mind, he spread your innermost lips and plunged two of his fingers inside. The stretch was sudden, but not at all unwelcome. You were wet enough for him to thrust his fingers in and out of you easily, spreading your slick wherever he touched. As soon as he began alternating between fucking you on his fingers and roughly toying with your clit, you started seeing stars.

“You like that? You like me finger fucking your tight little pussy? I wish I could see it, I bet it's all pink and cute, like your nipples. I bet you’ve never even taken a cock before."

Too drunk, too horny, and too tired to form words, the most you could do was shyly squeak in affirmation.

“Next time I’ll have you bounce on my cock so I can watch your face as you come. Or maybe I’ll eat you out so I can really get to see how cute your pussy is. Or maybe you’ll just want to pay back the favor I’m doing you now and suck me off.”

Next time? You hadn’t considered something like this happening again, or even the fact that you’d have to see him again. In mixed company. With your parents around. Would he fuck you in your childhood bedroom while everyone else was downstairs cooking dinner? Or would he keep your liaisons a dirty little secret that only happened away from home?

You didn’t care. You were coming from your stepbrother’s touch, in your stepbrother’s bed, far away from anyone else you knew. You felt your stomach tighten and your toes involuntarily curl, much stronger than you ever felt sneakily rubbing yourself in the shower. Thank fuck you were in a dark room, because you swore you could feel your face going all stupid.

You must not have realized how much you were panting and clenching around his fingers, because Neil seemed to know exactly how close you were and began whispering in your ear, encouraging you to come. You could barely register what he was saying, you were so lost in the sensation of his breath on your neck and his hand on your cunt.

Your orgasm finally took hold, and you could hear yourself babbling in pleasure but had no idea what you were saying, if you were even forming coherent words, as the pleasure ripped through your body like an electric shock. After the initial burst, you felt your body relax in a way you didn’t know was possible, releasing tension you didn’t even know you were holding. You swore you could feel yourself melting through the mattress before realizing that no, that was just sweat.

Noticing that you were lying there like a limp noodle and no longer squirming and moaning, Neil rolled off of you, withdrawing his hand from your panties. His fingers were completely soaked with your wetness, and while his initial instinct was to wipe them off on his shirt, roll over, and go to sleep, he couldn’t ignore the fact that he was rock hard. In a stroke of genius that would soon lead to literal stroking, he realized he had the perfect lube on hand.

He shoved his drenched hand down his boxers and began tugging his desperate member, softly grunting in rhythm with his pumping fist. Part of you felt bad that you weren’t helping, you had kinda forgotten that Neil was a complete person with desires of his own and not just a machine to get you off, but you were cozy and half asleep and he seemed to be handling the situation well enough on his own. At least, well enough that he was coming all over the front of his shirt.

He carefully pulled his soiled shirt over his head and wiped off his hand and what was left of his mess before tossing it on the floor and reaching for the blanket that had been kicked to the bottom of the bed amidst all the excitement. You felt yourself being tucked in as you gently dozed off, snuggling into Neil’s side as soon as he laid down beside you.

Yeah, you were going to visit your step brother a lot more often now.

[thedevilworkshardnheskickngmyass]

(you think) he doesn't like you back — Clark Kent

summary: you think he doesn't like you back, so you draw your love letters instead of confessing, and he finds your sketchbook one day. word count: 5.6k content warning: reader is an artist and has eczema, clark and reader are friends and roommates, trust fund reader, mention of past and current toxic relationships (not clark), reader has depression, self esteem issues. unrequited love, heartbreak, happy ending, hurt/comfort. also reader is bi (briefly mentioned). this is kind of really sad, but i promise, the ending is happy. notes: this was a request, and i meant to make it short and really sweet but instead i made it so angsty for no reason omg. i am truly so sorry anon, i still hope you enjoy it anyway. not beta read, please don't mind typos.

You think that people are too negative about having crushes. Sure, it’s heartcrushing and agonising and the yearning always threatens to bear a hole through your heart and ribcage, and it’s painful and the world feels like it’s ending every single time you see your crush smile at someone else and that there’s a rodent that took up residence inside your stomach to chew on your intestines but that’s besides the point.

The point you’re trying to make is that crushes are wonderful. Nothing in the world feels as blissful as catching the eyes of your crush and having them smile back at you first. 

Nothing can quite compare to the stolen glances and the soft accidental brush of fingers against fingers, or when there are only two seats left somewhere and you have to sit right next to him. 

Best of all, nothing could compare to the feeling you get every night fantasizing about holding his hand and falling asleep to the thought of the two of you together, happy in love. 

And you’re lucky, because your crush is your roommate and you get to see him every single day. 

And one of your favorite things to do is curl up in the couch while your roommate, Clark Kent, the tall and strong but nerdy farm boy from the middle of nowhere in Kansas, is doing the dishes. You offered, of course, but he refuses to ever let you touch water (he found out you have eczema and has been adamant ever since not to let you do anything that could cause your skin to flare up again, including but not limited to him doing the dishes for you, doing the laundry for you and other things you can’t remember right now because you’re too busy staring at the muscles of his back that were so defined they shone through his shirt), which is why you’re on the couch right now doing nothing but drawing while he’s busy being the perfect crush in the world. 

Only your pencils and your sketchbooks know about the crush you have on your roommate. When Clark asks if he can see your drawings, you always pull out a sketchbook you haven’t touched since you met him, because it’s your only sketchbook that isn’t filled to the brim with drawings of Clark Kent. If he notices how you never show him recent drawings, he doesn’t tell.

The thing is, lately you’ve only been drawing him. He was your muse, in a way. You’d been in a drawing slump for years before he replied to your Craiglist ad about a roommate and you first took a look at the adorkable gentle giant that was Clark Kent. 

The first day you guys met and you saw the shy dimple on his left cheek, your fingers itched to pick up a pencil again, and you haven’t put it down ever since, two years ago. 

“What are you drawing?” he asks while putting glasses in the drying rack. His glasses were slightly falling off his nose, and he kept failing to push them up with his wrist. You took pity on him and stood up from your nook in the couch and approached him. You used one finger on the bridge of his glasses to push them up.

“I was drawing the kitchen,” you lied, because you can’t exactly tell him you were learning the anatomy of his back and capturing the slopes and tendons of his muscles. 

He perked up. “Can I see?”

“Mhmm… only if you let me see you without your glasses,” you reply because it’s easier when it’s him who says no. He never accepts for some reason. He says he’s too insecure about his looks without them.

He instantly pouts. “You do that on purpose.”

Oops, he noticed. 

“My sketches are my glasses,” you tell him wisely. 

“That… that makes sense. You’re really smart,” he then says, completely out of the blue. Your entire body goes red. Not just your face or your ears or your neck. You can feel the blush travel all the way down to your chest.

“Says the actual reporter who’s about to win a Pulitzer prize anytime now.”

It’s his turn to flush and you wish you could use the shade of his blush to paint a portrait of him. 

“When are you gonna let me do the dishes too?”

You never thought you would ask that one day. You usually hate doing the dishes but it’s because Clark who does it for you, you feel bad and you want to help him.

“When you’re cured of eczema. And don’t try to tell me it’s getting better, because I see your hands everytime you shower.”

You didn’t know that.

You grin. “Been keeping up tabs on me, big boy?”

He splutters. “Ah, I, no, it’s… gosh darnit you, stop making fun of me.”

“I would apologize if I sincerely felt bad but unfortunately for you, I don’t.”

See? Having crushes wasn’t so bad.

Or maybe you should specify that it’s only not so bad when the object of your crush is Clark Kent. 

“Hey, do you wanna order takeout for tonight? That way you won’t have to do the dishes again. At least for tonight.”

Clark smiles, like he always does whenever you offer to do something with him. He’s always surprised that you actually enjoy spending his time, as though you haven’t fell in love with him the moment he held you all night long after a really bad date. 

“Ah, can I get a raincheck please? Tomorrow?”

“Sure,” you reply easily. “You gotta go to the office again later?”

He blushes, and smiles sweetly as if he wasn’t about to crush your heart with an elephant’s foot. “Ah, no. I, uh… I have a date tonight.”

“No way!” you say, trying to sound excited for him, because he really does look happy and excited about it. “Who’s the lucky girl?”

“I’m the lucky guy, to be honest. She’s a colleague at work.”

You instantly know who he’s talking about. “Lois Lane?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?” he asked with a timid smile.

You have nothing against her, really. She is breathtakingly pretty, has a smile that only rivals the moon in its beauty, and is as kind as a tree. Don’t ask why, you just think trees are the world’s kindest creatures, even if they’re not really creatures. And she’s always so sweet to you whenever she comes over. You like the way she drinks her sugar with coffee, instead of coffee with sugar the way literally anyone else did. She was— well, perfect for someone like Clark Kent. If he was the sun, she was the moon. And she was so nice to you, so pretty, you drew her, and she was so happy she hugged you and asked if she could keep the drawing. 

And most importantly, she is a Pulitzer prize winner. For all intents and purposes, she is perfect. 

And you’re such a horrible person for hating her right now. She didn’t do anything to you, so why the rodent inside your stomach chewing on your intestines like they were battery acid?

“I hope you have fun.”

“I know I will. I always have fun when I’m with her.”

And really, deep down, you’re happy for them both. You’re just even sadder for yourself, and it’s hard to feel anything positive about this right now.

So yeah, maybe people weren’t wrong about having crushes. Nothing was positive about it. 

When he’s gone and he says not to wait for him and he asks you to wish him luck (and you do), and you’re left all alone with just you and your twenty-thousand sketches of him, you feel really stupid. Really silly. Like a clown. 

It’s not like you even held some foolish hope that he would be yours one day. You just foolishly thought that he would never go out with other girls. You were just fine with being his friend, as long as he wasn’t also interested in other girls. You’re insane, you know, but it worked for you for almost two years. So in a way, he was just yours. You were the only who got to see him just as he wakes up or right before he goes to sleep. You were the only one he did the dishes for, and the only one he applied cream against your rashes whenever it got too bad. 

But now, you weren’t the only one anymore. 

In a way, it feels like a breakup. Because you were being crazy, if you’re honest with yourself. Maybe this is a good thing. 

Watching him come home the day after spending the night with his girlfriend with mussed hair and that shy smile that always betrayed what he’d been up to (he looked like he’d been caught saying a bad word but he was too satisfied to feel bad about it), was like picking up a dagger and stabbing it inside your chest every single day. 

And he sleeps over at hers a lot. And when he doesn’t, she sleeps over. And then it’s worse. Because sometimes, not always, you hear them. 

It’s been almost three months now. Your crush was a slender sharksucker that stuck to your leg and refused to let go. You were its home now and it wasn’t even paying.

“Hey, you okay?” Lois asks you with a crease of worry between her beautiful eyebrows. Clark was in the shower, and you didn’t know Lois was there when you came out to the kitchen to eat breakfast. 

“Uh… yes, totally, thanks.”

You must look really bad if she asks. Unlike her, who looked picture ready. “You, uh, you look really good. Is your skin just naturally flawless or do you use something for it?”

She lets out a delighted giggle. “No wonder Clark likes you so much. You’re so nice.”

You smile confusedly. “I wasn’t being nice, I was just saying the truth.”

“I’m flattered, but I have to confess it’s all the work of hyaluronic acid. And, between the two of us,” she whispers low, “a little bit of after glow.”

You laugh, because it’s funny but then later that day you remember what that entailed and your stomach churned.

“Whatcha drawing?” 

“Cats,” you reply. 

“Can I see?”

“Sure.”

“That’s okay, you don’t have to– wait, you said yes?”

You can’t help but laugh. You’d pavloved him into thinking you would always say no whenever he asks you if he can see a drawing. 

“Yes. Come see before I change my mind.”

He’s rushing towards you in two big strides. “This is so exciting. You never let me see your new drawings.”

Yeah well, that was because all you drew was him. But not anymore. 

“These are really good. I especially love the torti one. Could I have it?”

“Sure, I’ll draw you another and give it to you.”

“Okay,” he smiles happily. “Thank you. It’s really cute. Tortishells are Lois’ favorite cats.”

Oh. that’s fine.

You draw the cat anyway and because you love to hurt yourself, you drew Clark and her as cats too. In nice drawing paper, and even add a little bit of watercolor. It’s, ironically enough, one of your favorite work in a long time. 

They love it too. Clark makes a copy of it. 

You try to move on. You meet someone. He’s not as nice as Clark, nor as tall, or as handsome, or as kind. But he likes you. At least you think so. 

The first time he sees your hands when you’re having a flare-up, he recoils like you have the plague.

“That’s fucking gross, dude.”

Clark never swore. And he didn’t find it gross. He didn’t even care. His hands never flinched when he helped you apply cream.

“It’s just, it gets like that when it touches water. I told you.”

“Please don’t touch me until it’s gone.”

As far as distractions went, this was a really good one. It was like hurting yourself to distract yourself from a pain somewhere else. 

It hurts, yes, but you no longer hurt because Clark broke your heart. 

So you stay. 

You’re stupid, you know. But you’re in too deep. And quite frankly, this guy feels more familiar than Clark. Clark, with his true kindness and smiles, and his quiet support of your condition, was an anomaly in your life.

Josh, however, was just like any other man you’d ever met. Your brain felt safe in his unsafety. He found stability in his ghosting, the standing you up, the uncareness. 

How foolish of you to think you could have something good in your life for once. 

You see Clark less often. You’re no longer at home as much. He calls and texts but you reply less and less.

You think you’re spiraling but knowing it doesn’t do anything. If anything, it makes it even harder to stop. 

Clark once proposes to do a double date.

“You don’t draw anymore,” Clark notices. How did he? You guys barely see each other anymore. 

You hide your hands behind your back. You’re so stressed lately your body was in constant state of breaking out. And Josh didn’t help. You can’t grab a pencil anymore.

“I’m in a rut,” you say. He thinks you’re talking about being in a rut creatively.

“Jesus, it’s gotten all over your body now too. I can’t even get hard anymore. Just…”

You’re standing there naked, feeling more exposed than ever. Beneath your skin, your muscles, your bones. 

At least you were good at this, but not anymore. Even Josh didn’t want to see you anymore.

Josh leaves you behind.

You break down, you call Clark. You don’t think, you can’t even breathe. You just want to get out of your skin. 

You know Clark was supposed to be at Lois, but your mind doesn’t care about that anymore.

“Can you come home, please?” you ask him, sobbing into the phone. 

You don’t even realize he’s home only minutes after calling him. Nothing registers inside your mind except the feeling of wrongness that’s now spread all over your body, not just hands. 

It’s only when Clark enters your room, hair mussed from wind and a look of pure horror on his face that you finally realize how you must look. 

Curled up on the floor, in just your lingerie — the worst part of it all was that you were trying to be desirable, sexy, pretty and even when you make efforts your skin is all people can see and it’s all you can feel — crying and hyperventilating and scratching your skin so harshly you could feel blood all over. 

Your entire body hurts and itches and every movement you made tugs at some part of your skin and it felt like you were being torn apart.

“Oh my darling,” Clark breathes out and you can barely hear him over the sound of you breaking down.

He doesn’t ask what happened, doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even recoil at the sight of your skin peeling and bleeding and aching and looking so wrong you wish you could shed it all. 

He just approaches you, touches you gently, and instead of feeling like someone’s pressing a hot iron against your skin, his hand is warm and soft and it’s like silk against your agonizing skin, and you choke on a sob as you lean towards him like moth to flame, like sunflower to the sun, like someone who’s never known softness before. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay my darling, I got you, I got you,” he says and some part of you settles down at his words but the rest of you — the majority wants to cry and scream at how unfair everything is. 

He doesn’t even judge you because you’re in lingerie, he doesn’t make fun of you for trying to make yourself pretty when it’s just not possible. A pig’s still a pig even when you put lipstick on it.

You cry harder. 

“Why can’t I ever be enough?” you ask him in between sobs but you don’t see the way his face openly breaks at your heartbreak, and he tugs you closer to him, pulling you against him, dragging you over his lap and it’s weird, he should feel wrong but he just feels like the only thing in your entire life that’s right. 

You blink once and he’s gone, and you blink again and he’s back and he’s got moisturizer, and you know that brand, it’s the one you use, with no scent and fragrance-free, except it’s not yours because yours isn’t as big and then he’s lathering some in his large hand and he warms it first before he starts gently applying it on your skin in slow circles and the softness of it all breaks you more than harshness ever could. 

“I’m sorry for ruining your date night,” you whisper brokenly. You’re apologizing but you can’t bring yourself to regret calling him. “I didn’t have anyone else to call.”

“You can always call me, darling. Anytime and whenever. I’ll always come for you.”

“But Lois… I don’t want…”

“Lois understands,” he says. “And this is not about her or even me. This is about you, okay? Worry only about you, and I’ll worry about the rest.”

You feel like there’s no tears left to cry inside your body but you keep surprising yourself by crying again and again, like a leaky faucet. 

“How are you not disgusted?” you ask him.

He’s still applying the thick cream in your arms and now he’s holding your left hand and he’s slowly massaging the ointment in. 

“Because there’s nothing to be disgusted at,” he replies simply. Like the truth was always this simple. He replies quickly, confidently, without hesitation. As if it’s a truth as uncontested as the color of the sky.

You want to believe him so badly. 

He’s done with both your hands. “Can I touch your chest and stomach?”

It’s where the flares are the worst. “It’s disgusting,” you tell him.

“Not to me,” he replies. 

It’s hopeless. Your crush is hopeless, because it’s not going anywhere. You knew it right there and then. 

Neither of you talk about that night. You know Clark wants to, but you don’t, so he doesn’t say anything.

Your skin condition gets considerably better after Josh leaves your life. He left it just as quietly as he got in it. He’d never been the right one. He was just the right one to distract you.

Clark starts saying home more often. At first, Lois comes by too. She’s kind. She’s gentle. She always has the right thing to say. Your heart breaks as much as it heals. 

Then, she slowly starts showing up less. Clark is always smiling when he says, she’s busy. But you know. You know you’re the reason they’re growing apart. 

You don’t know what the hell you’re doing with your life anymore. You don’t have to work because you’re a trust fund baby and you only got a roommate because you were lonely, not because you needed the money, so there’s nothing to structure your days. Nothing to keep you responsible. You don’t work, you don’t draw anymore.

You know it’s not just your unrequited crush on Clark that caused all this. But it was a catalyst. You don’t know what’s going on anymore. 

Clark still doesn’t let you touch the dishes. Still doesn’t let you clean with products that burn and dry.

He still eats takeout with you. Still enjoys your food.

He’s still with Lois, but there’s something else. You’re breaking them up, or you’re just their catalyst too. You hope it’s not you. You would never forgive yourself. 

Clark still helps you put ointment on your hands. He’s so gentle it makes you want to pick up a pencil again, just to carve against paper the softness of his touch.

Your drawings become all the words you couldn’t say. 

You draw Clark’s hands and his smile, and his gentle eyes. 

You draw yourself, made out of scars and blood and acid. 

The two of you could never work out. 

It slowly starts getting better. It starts with Clark coming back home to you to celebrate his first page in the Daily Planet.

You’re so happy for him you throw yourself at him to hug him, because he looks so happy and so bashful and so excited and you’re so proud of him. You always knew he was destined to greater things.

You guys eat out that night. 

You’re worried about Lois, he says, don’t worry. We ended things amiably. We’re still friends, we just didn’t work together. His head wasn’t in the right headspace for a relationship.

You look at him, trying to say whether he was being truthful, or if he was just trying to spare your feelings.

He laughs, and shows you his latest messages from Lois. 

Your heart settles then. You hadn’t realized just how worried you were until now. Until your heart’s been put at ease.

Deep inside, your heart roars one last time with hope. You tell it to shut up. You’re never ruining this friendship again. 

But everything else is quieter. Tamed, settled. Your skin doesn’t scream at you now, and with Clark helping you with your treatment, it’s better than it’s ever been. You still have some scars from where you scratched too hard, but you almost don’t mind it — most days. 

Clark talks you into starting therapy. So you do, because there’s nothing you can refuse Clark. You know that’s unhealthy, but that’s what therapy is here for. 

One day, Clark tells you that Lois is asking about you, and that she wonders if you take commissions. She would like to commission you for a piece she’ll use for her latest article.

It’s an honor. You say yes. 

You find that having to do something keeps your body and mind busy. 

“I have something I want to show you,” Clark says and you look up to him with bleary eyes. You’re barely awake, and he’s already looking fresh and proper for the day ahead. It’s so unfair.

“Can it wait later?”

“How long?”

You think about it. “Ten hours?” you offer reasonably.

“I’m afraid it can’t wait that long, but I’ll give you two hours. Does that sound reasonable?”

“Two hours until we have to be there or two hours until I have to start getting ready? It’s not the same thing.” 

“Two hours until you have to get ready. I know how you operate, spoiled princess, don’t worry.”

“Cheers, you speak my language.”

(You were almost late anyway despite his best efforts.)

“No,” you say, once you both get at destination.

“Yes,” he replies, smug. 

“No fucking way.”

“Yes fricking way.”

“The waitlist’s a year long!”

“I know.” he looks even more smug now. “I got tickets at work.”

“I could kiss you right now,” you say very seriously.

He got tickets at work and thought of you? Your heart’s doing things you swore you were never going to do again. 

He blushes at your fervence, but smiles anyway. “I’ll take it you’re happy?”

“Happy? I think my excitement could fuel a spaceship right now.”

Van Gogh is (one of) your favorite artist, and you’d been trying to get tickets for it for so long, but admittedly you weren’t trying too hard. You were always too worried of failing to get them so you sabotaged yourself. It was more of a chimera than anything else. And you’d only talked to Clark about it once, one year ago, and he remembered. 

“Clark, you’re the best creature that has ever existed. And the bestest friend I’ve ever had,” you tell him seriously.

He chuckles nervously. “Why do you sound like you’re about to promise me your first born?”

“Because I am.”

“No, please don’t,” he says, looking so distressed at the idea that it makes you giggle.

“Okay fine. I’ll give you the second one.”

The immersive experience was out of this world but you still think it’s Clark who makes it so special. 

During lunch hours, he buys lunch for the both of you even though the food here is overpriced, and you can more than afford to, but he insists on paying, saying he was the one who invited you here. It feels so much like a date you have to remind yourself every minute that it’s not one. 

Everything is great. Perfect, even. Even if you’re afraid of that word.

Clark Kent makes it so easy not to be afraid of hope. One look at him and you think— no, you know everything’s gonna be okay.

Maybe having a crush isn’t so bad, after all. 

Lois starts coming over more often again, purely as a friend. Barred Clark, she’s one of the best people you’ve ever met. She sees how you look at him, and when you look at her in panic at having your best kept secret discovered, she just winks at you and puts a finger over her closed lips.

Your secret’s safe with her. You smile at her gratefully.

“You know,” she tells you. “Clark makes an amazing boyfriend.”

“Then why did you guys not work out?” 

The question’s out of your mouth before you could stop it. 

Lois laughs. “Because it turned out we were both using each other to lie to ourselves.”

At your puzzled look she adds, “I found out that good boys are nice and all, but I prefer a little edge. And an entirely different gender.”

“Oh,” you say. “Congrats?”

Lois snorted good-naturedly. “Thank you.”

You find yourself opening up too. “I found out that I liked girls too when I was thirteen.”

“Girls are the dream, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” you say. “But then I met Clark.”

“And then you met Clark,” Lois repeated. “He does that, doesn’t he? He’s not even aware of it.”

“Yeah. I’ve been trying so hard to forget him but it won’t work. It’s like he’s embedded in my neurons.”

“Then maybe it’s because you’re not meant to forget him yet.”

“Don’t get my hopes up please,” you tell her laughing.

You mention off-handledly missing homemade lasagna one day and the next Clark is making you one from scratch. He even got a pasta machine out (you didn’t even realize you had one) and everything.

“This is overkill,” you tell him while dipping your finger into the bechamel sauce and licking it and then begging him to let you roll the lever.

“Clearly,” he replied dryly. 

Then, later, once the lasagna is in the oven, you look around the kitchen. “This is a mess.”

“Remind again who started the flour fight?”

Clark decided he was going to do a deep clean day so he told you to leave the apartment because of the dirt and dust and allergies.

“Are you kicking me out of my own place, the one I paid for with my hard earned pedigree?”

“Yes, yes I am. I don’t want your allergies to get worse.”

“You’re so kind it borderlines on cruel sometimes,” you tell him darkly before going out. You were thinking of going to visit the ducks. Before or after the movies. Lois said she’ll join you. Girls day, she said. 

The apartment is spotless by the time you come back and it really makes you want to start another food fight, but you don’t.

“Clark?” 

“In here!” he calls back from the living room. He sounded winded. Poor guy must have tired himself out. 

“Hey,” you greet him, taking off your shoes in the living room because it’s fun. But then you look up and you’re not having fun anymore. “What’s that?” you ask him, dreading the answer.

He has the decency to look bashful. “I was cleaning up the couch when I found it wedged between the two seats.”

Oh no. Oh no no. 

“Whatever you saw, it’s not me,” you say quickly.

“And what do you think I saw?” he asks. He looks so red and so flustered. He must have looked through the whole thing. Oh God, he saw the drawings of him shirtless after a shower. You hadn’t even needed to draw it because the sight was etched onto the back of your eyelids.

“I think you saw hallucinations. I think you ate a bad shroom today.”

“How would you even know what I ate today?” he says, comically offended. 

You shrug. Good, he’s getting distracted from the fact that he found your sketchbook where all you did was draw him, and him only. And writing embarrassing stuff like ‘oh he was so pretty today, i almost asked if i could kiss him’ or worse things like, ‘he’s so handsome!!!!! Kill me now’.

“Can I have that back, please?” you ask him, totally nonchalant and suave. He has to think you don’t care you found it, so he would lose interest.

“No, I have a few questions first,” he says with a smug grin, standing up and lifting the sketchbook high up in the air. It’s futile trying to get it, unless you tried to climb him, but that would only make everything worse. 

My blood turned to ice in my veins. “Before you ask, no, it’s fine, I’m over it, I’m over your crush, please don’t hate me.”

But instead of looking relieved, he looked… crestfallen? “That’s not what I was going to ask, but is that true? I mean, I don’t blame you for moving on, it must have been so hard for you but… is it true?”

“What were you going to ask?”

“I don’t that matters now anyway, since you said you don’t like me anymore,” he says with a gentle smile but you can see the heartbreak behind his eyes. 

Lois’ words come back to mind. 

“I… I lied,” you say. Honesty is always better, wasn’t it? “I still like you. A lot. I think I’m in love. But I don’t want it to ruin our friendship, so I tried to move on, but it didn’t work. It never did. Please don’t think this has to change anything, I won’t let it ruin what we have.”

“What if I want it to?”

Your heart falls through your stomach. 

“No,” he continues, shaking his head, “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.” He lowered his hand, still holding onto the sketchbook. “What I meant is, I like you too. I really like you too, and I’m sorry I was too much of a coward to tell you. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I almost messed everything up, didn’t I? Please tell me it’s not too late, darling.”

Nothing is never too late for you, Clark.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

Clark was never the kind of person who said things they didn’t mean, but that didn’t mean your brain knew that. “I…” 

“I love you, and I think I have ever since that first week of me living here where you tried your hardest to find out what was my breaking limit. And you never found it, because I never had any around you.”

You remember that week. You were trying to see what type of person he was, and if he was prone to anger or violence. You were testing the ground for bombs, and you never found any, because this was Clark. The human equivalent of a weighted blanket and a hug after a heartbreak. 

“I bought your groceries for a month straight after to apologize for my behavior,” you say.

“I know, and it only made me fall harder, but I was too blind to see it, and I’m sorry. I really am. For being the world’s biggest idiot. Who almost missed the chance of his life to be with the woman of his dreams. Please, tell me. Have I messed everything up?”

You didn’t even need to think to know the answer. Of course he didn’t. He never did. He wasn’t even capable of that. 

“No, of course not. I just… I spent so long thinking that I was foolish and stupid for hoping, that this just seems like a dream now.”

“It feels like a dream to me too,” he confesses. “A dream come true. Say you’ll have me, and I’ll make you the happiest girl in the world. I swear on everything that I stand for.”

You don’t reply. You get on your tiptoes instead, and kiss him.

Instantly, he leans down slightly and wraps his arms around you and lifts you up in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist. “Wow,” you whisper against his lips. 

“Wow indeed,” he replies right back against your lips. “Can I kiss you again?” he asks in a husky voice. 

“You have two years of kisses to catch up, so you better start now.”

“I know,” he replies, sounding pained. “And I fully intent to pay you back in full.” A kiss. “With interest.” A kiss.

Your smile is swallowed by another kiss. 

Yeah, you think to yourself. Having a crush on Clark Kent is definitely the best thing ever. 

masterlist ᯓ★ part2? requests! ᯓ★ directory ᯓ★ come say hi

[thedevilworkshardnheskickngmyass]

Unnoticed longing stares

Neil Lewis x Reader

Prompt: “I’m going to need you to stop for one second because I just find it so incredibly rude that you think I’m not head over heels in love with your stupid, oblivious ass. Are you a brick? Because you’re dense as fuck.”

Warnings: angst, sadness, fluff, hints of smut

Notes: Giant thank you to the amazing @your-nanas-house as always, for helping me write through that difficult time. Thank you so much, darling!🫶🏻

Your day wasn't good to begin with, sorting out the old movies on the shelves you had to go back to the counter every couple minutes to deal with the customers, because Lucian was sick, Jonathan was receiving delivery and Neil... Neil was gone again.

”Enjoy your movies!” You yelled after the last customer left, heading back to the empty shelf. The box was standing on the floor full to the brim, so you had no doubts that you'll have to work overtime.

Which you wouldn't have to do, if your friend bothered to come to work instead of chasing some girl that wasn't good for him to begin with.

Less than an hour later Neil came in, wearing the expression of a disappointment which didn't pass unnoticed by you.

It didn't mean you reacted though, ignoring his presence even when he asked about Lucien, the store fairly empty.

”Y/n” He called out, noticing that you ignored him. You remained still, putting up the movies and checking their ratings on websites before you felt his hand on your shoulder. ”Y/n!” He repeated with annoyance in a slightly louder tone.

Neil was always.. a little touchy, that's just how he was.

She was okay with it, that was normal for them to be.. close. Best friends for long years, and never before did he act that desperate.

At first Y/n didn't know what to think about it, her mixed feelings were making her take different approaches to that situation, but.. she ended up feeling frustrated. Jealousy at the sudden change and interest in different women was a burden she had to learn to live with, unfortunately.

Slowly his approach to daily life started changing, as the frustration grew. Unknowingly to Y/n, he was really frustrated by each monologue he was getting from people around, about how he should.. settle, which basically meant having a long term partner. He started spending less time in the Gumshoe, trying to figure out why he wasn't interesting enough for most women to be interested in him.

His unique and fading sense of self was fading… into an average man, which was sad to look at by his close friends.

He was still hands-on with Y/n, but since the circumstances changed, she wasn't happy about it.

That didn't mean that she should always give him what he wanted and follow his mood. She was kind of tired of that all… always being there for him and putting him first. They all worked so hard while he was.. participating in the rat race on all kinds of dating apps.

She wanted to be selfish for once so she kept ignoring him, just answering at his whining with a soft grunt. The hugs they used to share were extremely rare anymore.

Who knows what he touched with those hands, she thought so often when he was trying to initiate it.

It wasn't the reply Neil would normally get from his friend but he took it as a sign to continue talking, already not caring about where Lucien was. If he was more attentive, he would realize that Y/n’s approach to him was always colder after his.. little dates.

Of course he wasn't.

”Y/n!” He snapped loudly, ripping her out of her thoughts, causing her to turn around quickly with annoyance, acting like he didn't just startle her.

”What!“ Her voice was sharp with anger and mixed emotions which Neil obviously didn't catch on.

She was struggling with the longing she felt, missing the Neil he.. used to be, and being frustrated with the foolish change.

His light blue eyes remained on her for a couple of seconds as he didn't add anything… only taking a deep breath, clearing his throat. Maybe her day isn't good either, he thought.

With a sigh he lifted his hands in the air, after fighting the urge to pull her into a bear hug, clearly not wanting to cause any fight.

Turning around, Neil grabbed a can of coke from the shelf, slumping on the couch with a tiny huff.

His eyes were lingering around the drink he held, thoughts running through his mind.

Neil started dating… three months ago. After hearing all his friends criticizing him for being single at all times, he… had enough. After all, mid twenties was a right time to kind of.. settle, no?

“Can't really understand people nowadays…” He started in a resigned tone. ”What am I doing wrong? I.. I changed the way I'm dressing a little, just like I was advised to do! I… I even stopped talking about movies on these fucking dates, y’know!” Neil complained out loud, brushing his hair back as his foot tapped nervously against the floor “..and! When I come back of course there is no one looking at the store… I mean, I have a store, right? I'm a… businessman, I'm.. not ugly.. I have everything a woman could possibly want. Right? But I can't fucking find someone who’d just.. genuinely love me.” he continued with a deep sigh, his slender fingers tapping the counter as he thought.

“Don’t get me wrong.. those women I dated were good.. ekhm, but… I just want to be loved, you know?” he continued complaining mindlessly in a whiny tone, dropping his head back. Completely unaware that his shit talk was making Y/n’s blood boil. “Noone ever loved me, not even my own family, and the others just liked to be around sometime… some didn’t even pretend!”

His tone got whinier and more annoying as he continued to complain about his love life, mentioning details that only Neil could mention while being with someone and it was starting to really bother Y/n.

His voice continued to swirl in her head while his tone of voice just kept stabbing her mercilessly… she really had enough of all this, especially when her friend kept pointing out such lies.

He had someone who loved him but apparently he wasn't able to see it… probably all the flashing boobs and asses from the stupid porn he was watching made him go blind, she thought as she frowned slightly. Not really listening to what he was saying anymore till….

”...not even ONE normal one, y'know!” He kept whining, but she had enough.

”Alright, my shift is over.” She snapped suddenly, stopping him mid sentence as she put down the box of cassettes and DVD’s, grabbing her bag on the way out to the door.

Before Neil even realized what happened, she was gone.

What the fuck, he thought, shaking his head lightly. The whole day seemed to be just.. horrible.

With a blank expression he got up, heading to the backroom. He'll probably spend the night in Gumshoe Video anyway.

”Neil, get up!” He heard as Jonathan shook his shoulder in an attempt to wake him up, this time successfully. ”Were you sleeping here? What are you, a masochist?” The taller man chuckled at his joke while Neil tried to make himself look… somehow presentable, even though it was clear how badly he was feeling.

”Whatever, man.” He replied, making Jon raise his eyebrows.

”Y/n is snappy as fuck too today, what happened? You argued with her?” He asked as they headed to the main room, Lucien sitting on the couch with a sandwich in his hand. Unbothered, as always.

”Fuck if I know, Jon. She was here when I came back from a date yesterday, and.. I just wanted to talk a bit, y’know?” Neil scratched his neck, trying to crack some of his bones. His body was hurting, because.. the armchair in his office was clearly not made for a goodnight sleep.

Jonathan narrowed his eyes hearing Neil's words. ”...and I was.. complaining a bit, obviously. After all the dating.. is fucking horrible, man.”

They chatted freely while Lucien remained quiet… until he spoke up, hearing their conversation.

”Haven’t you thought that that might be just… jealousy? After all, you know each other for years.” He prompted as he shrugged his shoulders, taking a bite of the sandwich while looking at them.

The whole store fell silent for a moment, before Neil and Jon busted out laughing.

”No way, Luc. She wouldn't date someone like me. Have you seen her?” He said with irony, chuckling.

”True” Jonathan agreed, causing Neil to punch him in the shoulder with a frown. ”Hey! I'm just being realistic!” He added, lifting his hands in the air in the sign of surrender.

With a deep sigh Neil nodded, grabbing onto the new box of DVDs that he needed to put up on the shelves.

Day was passing quickly, but he still felt a little anxious at the thought of meeting up with Y/n in less than two hours. She was about to start her shift soon, which meant he would be left with her and Lucien.. who wasn't much of a support during arguments.

”Alright, heading out.” Jonathan informed, waving as he went through the door, passing by Y/n who smiled at him, before doing their own silly handshake.

Seeing it, Neil couldn't help but roll his eyes for some reason. She was cold.. only with him, it seemed like. He couldn't help but feel the burning pain in his chest seeing them laugh together.

He had no idea why she was angry with him, but he didn't plan on humoring her little mood swings.

They didn't talk much, passing by each other the whole day without unnecessary words, before Neil finally settled in the office, signing up the papers he had due.

”Neil, some chick wants to see you!” Lucien yelled out, making the blue eyed man sigh with resignation. Running a hand through his hair, he got up slowly heading to the counter.

Entering the room, he didn't expect to see the girl he was on a last date with.

”Hey, um.. I had fun the last time, and I thought that… that you didn't give me your number.” The tall redhead spoke up, swaying on her feet lightly.

It was clear that she didn't get the message, foolishly thinking he just forgot to give her his number.

His eyebrows were raised, no words coming out for a couple seconds before suddenly Y/n spoke up.

”Because he doesn't have a phone. In his parents’ basement where he lives, there's no signal anyway.” Her voice was serious, matching the blank expression on her face as the other woman's eyes widened hearing it.

”Ah, I see… so maybe.. maybe I'll come around sometime soon, yeah? I gotta go now.” Her voice was annoyingly high pitched, even more as she got stressed, rushing to the door almost like someone was chasing her.

Lucien couldn't help but laugh out loud, covering his mouth before heading out the door as well. Mumbling ”It’ll be good” under his breath, knowing well that these two would be arguing now.

Neil stood, completely shocked at what just happened. After a whole day of ignoring him, she suddenly decided to speak up.. around his date?

”What the fuck was that!” He snapped, brows still furrowed and eyes widened in confusion.

What was she thinking, intervening like that after ignoring him so long?

Y/n rolled her eyes, looking at her watch, since there was just a couple minutes before closing left. ”Fucking reply!” He boomed, throwing his hands in the air in annoyance.

”My shift is over, boss. See you on monday.” Y/n said, trying to pass by and escape the store, but a big hand clamped down over her hip, not letting her go.

”You’re not going anywhere, what the fuck is up with you lately, huh?! Why are you acting like that?” Neil asked, pacing back and forth, trying to understand what was happening.

Their friendship was.. so long lasting, and what now?

”Why are you so… so against the idea of me being loved?” Neil stopped in his tracks, crossing arms on his chest as he got into her face.

Hearing the choice of words, Y/n couldn't help but scoff with anger, the heavy emotions causing tears to appear in her eyes, luckily remaining in her eyes, not spilling.

”Loved? Fucking loved?!” Her voice was loud, but breaking sometimes. All the feelings she had to keep in herself through that whole time finally finding an outlet as her fist landed on his chest. ”You were loved all along, you asshat!”

Neil's face twisted in surprise for a second, before rolling his eyes. He didn't want to hear about the friendship type of love, whenever people pitied him.

”Not that kind, Y/n! I'm… I'm a man, I wanted to be loved like one! Not just a… an annoying friend from a video store!” He started yelling too, hand running through his hair again in an attempt to calm down, especially hearing another scoff coming from her. ”What’s so fucking funny!” Neil snapped, anger written all over his face.

After Y/n stopped laughing, she wiped the tears that spilled from her eyes.

”I'm going to need you to stop for one second, because I just find it so incredibly rude that you think I'm not head over heels in love with your stupid, oblivious ass.” She yelled out, the frustration coming out flowing like a river. ”Are you a brick? Because you're dense as fuck!” She pushed him, causing Neil to take a step back.

”Wh-what?” Neil stuttered out in shock, not defending himself as she kept pushing him back.

”What what?!” she hissed frowing at him, her eyes started to narrow even more as the pure anger he kept for herself finally found a way out of her tiny body.

All at once as everything Neil could was just stare at her and let her do it before actually coming back to reality and reacting to everything that was happening.

Her friend just told him that she had feelings for him and now she’s mad at him for some reason.. pushing him around while letting all her anger out… pushing him around, he repeated in his head before finally snapping forward to grab her wrists with one hand.

“Stop” he warned with the same tone of voice as hers, his eyes narrowing as well as he started to match her energy like they used to when they spent more time together… before all the dating craziness.

It was different back then, the moods weren’t against each other most of the time but united, traveling arm in arm.

They were staring at each other, both breathing heavily in silence now that he managed to pin her against the sofa of the shop.

“You..” Neil started, swallowing the knot that formed in his throat, as if he tried to keep his feelings inside of him. Unsuccessfully.

“No need to lie to me, I know I’m pathetic, okay!” he spat out, nearly yelling in her face. Y/n’s face twisted in anger as they stared at each other for a moment.

”I’m not! Fucking! Lying to you!” She yelled back, moving her head forward, wiggling with each word back and forth trying to free herself from his tight grip and from how he was pressing on her… without any success.

”Yeah, sure!” He scoffed with annoyance, the anger and shame filling up his blue eyes. The low self esteem taking over his rational thinking, Jonathan's facial expression and laugh ringing in his head. ”Girls like you don't go out with… with guys like me! Look at me!” His voice was less angry, more.. shaky and weak, and she saw the way his cheeks flushed.

He really didn't believe it could be true, Y/n thought.

Normally she would go for.. affection, grab his face and go on a monologue of how amazing he is, of how.. she daydreamed about him for years.

But there was no right time or circumstances, the anger and frustration that managed to gather in her body in the last months overtaking her mind.

Without a second thought she took a step forward, pressing him against the wall, before one hand grabbed onto the back of his head, pulling him down into a kiss.

Y/n always imagined their first kiss.. romantic, maybe a little clumsy, just like in movies that they watched together. But this was something completely different, the strong feelings, bitterness and.. need for one another was incredibly high.

Neil gasped in surprise at first, before his hands snaked down onto her waist, pulling her closer. Heart in his chest pounded so hard, he felt he might… faint.

Y/n’s eyes were closed as she kept pressing her mouth harshly against Neil’s, who was a bit taken aback and had his eyes still awkwardly open… luckily they flattered shut on their own and his body immediately reacted to the small gesture, reciprocating it.

They molded together like clay of sculptures of the late paleolithic, also imitating the primitive as the kiss continued. Neil didn't even realize how quickly his body reacted to her touch. His manhood stirred inappropriately quickly, feeling her soft skin under his fingertips. Subconsciously his hips pressed against her stomach, the hard bulge digging into her belly, while he panted into the kiss like a hungry animal.

Neil quickly gained the domination in the kiss, head moving to create the rhythm of a kiss and his hands started to wander around without a specific destination. Touching, kneading and squeezing with her non-verbal consent, hearing the quiet sighs leaving her lips one after another.

Her hands started to wander as well, as soon as he freed them, allowing them to caress his clothed back down to his ass where she took a handful of it in an attempt to push him further closer to her.

“Neil” she breathed out as she managed to break the kiss, stretching softly her neck to let him continue the trail of wet kisses on her sensitive skin without being unbothered.

He just replied with a soft grunt, eyes glistening with lust at the sight of her beautiful neck.

Neil started leaving wet kisses along her skin, his hips now moving in a poor attempt to grind against her and receive a bit of friction. His face in her neckline shamelessly licking and sucking around her neck, collarbones and slowly heading down towards her breasts as best he could before she repeated his name in a firmer tone making him look up at her without stopping his actions.

Thinking it was just an attempt to get his attention back, Neil leaned to kiss her again, his lips hitting just her cheek when she moved her head to the side, dodging his hungry mouth.

“Baby” Y/n murmured, grabbing his chin with her hand to make him look her directly in the eyes.

“Not going to give in so easily. You need to win my trust again and earn it.” she informed him, moving easily in a sitting position meanwhile making him land on the floor with a soft thud.

“Was this sufficient evidence for you, Mister?” the woman asked as she caught her breath, fixing her clothes to look more presentable again.. since they were still at the shop. Even though Lucien turned the sign so that the possible customers wouldn’t have walked in on them.

“I told you!” He read on his phone, message coming from Lucien. Shaking his head, Neil sighed deeply. He had a lot of making up to do.

[thedevilworkshardnheskickngmyass]

Dad doesn't like Christmas

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: fluff, sweet babies, I wanna cry

Word count: 3k

Notes: THANK YOU TO MY AMAZING FRIEND FOR HELPING ME WITH THAT REQUEST, THESE ARE THE CUTEST CHILDREN 😭 @your-nanas-house

Deep sigh left Y/n’s mouth, as she stared blankly at the half-filled sheet of paper.

The Christmas list was almost finished, because of course she had to have the same issue that she had every single year.

What possibly would… Tommy Shelby want for Christmas?

A person that has.. everything he'd ever wish to have. So rich that he could buy literally anything.

Her thought process wasn't going the smoothest way, as two little girls ran around the living room giggling and distracting their mother.

”Lily” Y/n groaned with defeat in her voice, making the little girls stop in their tracks immediately, staring at their mum with the big blue eyes that they both inherited from their father.

”Yes, mummy?” She came up, brows furrowed and eyes wide open as she waited for the request. Lily was definitely the most.. hyperactive out of them two. Always ready for a task, no matter what her parents would want.

Sighing deeply, Y/n leaned forward caressing the red beautiful hair on Lily's head.

”What would daddy want for Christmas, hm?” She asked carefully with a smile, watching both girls. Rosie was sitting on the rug, playing with her stuffed, listening to her mother's voice.

Lily, of course, took the question very seriously.

The six year old sat on the couch right next to her mum, taking the pose of a thinker, tapping her finger on her chin as she thought intensely.

”Hmmm… A book!” She finally said, lifting her tiny finger in the air, like she'd find out the solution for world hunger.

Her mother just giggled, patting the child's head while shaking her own.

”We’ve got a whole library, darling.” She explained, touched by the six-year-old's involvement.

”Hmmmm… A pen!” She tried again, making Rosie giggle.

As two of them got busy with the conversation and trying to figure out a perfect gift, the almost four year old decided to find out on her own, going right to the source. Her tiny shoes clicked against the polished floor as she made her way to her dad's office, her journey taking a good couple minutes because of the size of her little steps, but eventually she got there. Breathing deeply and clutching her teddy, she stood on her tiptoes to reach the doorknob, turning it and creaking the door open.

Thomas was sitting behind his wooden desk, round glasses resting on his nose as he worked, writing and signing papers in a quick way.

His blue eyes snapped towards the door as he heard them open, meeting the very same pair of blue pupils that he had. His expression softened quickly, seeing his youngest child running with a full speed towards him.

”Hey, love. How did you get here on your own, eh?” He asked gently, lifting the baby from the floor, and putting her on his knee. Before answering, Rosie carefully looked around the desk, eyes wide open as she took in all the interesting looking items laying there, before shifting her gaze to Tommy's face.

She didn't answer, carefully placing her teddy on his desk, before she managed to change her position, sitting directly on his lap, facing him.

Thomas was curious where it was going as he watched the precise moves of his three year old.

Rosaline grabbed his face suddenly, holding his cheeks in her little hands as she moved her face closer, getting eye to eye with her dad.

”Dada… Wat you wan’ f’om Santa?” She whispered in a very serious tone, looking into his eyes with her blue ones. Brows raised in anticipation, moving her tiny fingers around a bit with a giggle, as she felt the short hair on her father's face.

”From Santa, eh?” He repeated, equally quietly, looking at her with a serious expression, the same one that he wore on business meetings.

A few months ago Tommy already learned that Rosie was more similar to him than her mother. The jet black hair, big blue eyes and pale skin covered with freckles weren't the only qualities she got from him. Persuasion and poker face was another.

”Hmm… I don't think I need anything from the old man, darling. I already got my.. perfect wife and my beautiful girls…” He continued in a quiet tone, before suddenly starting to tickle his daughter, who squealed trying to grab his wrists, unsuccessfully. After a moment Tommy stopped, leaning in and kissing her forehead.

”Bootiful?” She asked with a giggle, running hand through her thick hair with a blush, making him laugh out loudly.

Seconds later Y/n walked into the office, holding Lily's laugh with a worried expression that faded as soon as she saw the toddler on Tommy's lap.

”There you are! I was so worried!” Y/n said, coming closer. She wasn't able to resist the smile that pushed on her lips as soon as both Rosie and Tommy looked at her in the identical way, all the similarities even more visible than usual. ”Found your way to daddy's room, huh?” Y/n asked with a cocked eyebrow, putting hands on her hips in a motherly way, seeing the mischievous grin on Rosie's face.

”Yeah!” She squealed happily before Thomas put her on the floor, and she ran away chasing her sister.

Y/n sighed, looking at Tommy with a tired smile that he mimicked. Coming closer, she sat on his lap giving him a sweet kiss on the lips before leaning her head on his collarbones.

”She is identical to you.” She said with a chuckle, Thomas’ laugh followed. ”There will only be problems with her when she gets older.” She added, but before she could say anything else, they could hear Lily's voice.

”Mama! Rosie threw my doll!” She complained in a whiny voice, causing her mum to sigh again.

”Already are.” Her husband said with a mischievous chuckle before he kissed her head.

Y/n got up, heading to the door but before leaving, she managed to flip him off with a grin.

A couple days passed, and Y/n didn't have much more ideas, all the propositions for a gift from the rest of Shelby family seemed… too extra or too simple for someone like Tommy.

She tried to ask everyone of the Shelby family, from aunt Polly to his brothers, cousins and so on.. but nothing.

That’s why she chose to just exit their house, bringing along the two girls, in an attempt to clear her mind and take care of the grocery shopping, plus the gifts. Her initial idea was to hop onto the carriage and head to Small Heath, looking around in search of inspiration, ideas.. literally anything. But nothing came.

Y/n was starting to feel pretty sad about it, after a marriage like hers and two lovely kids, she should know what her husband could want. So she started to list it in her mind, her eyes focusing on Lily who was talking with her little sister Rosie, both pretty much minding their own business, happy for the things their mother got them during the small journey.

The carriage kept moving, making them jolting softly every time it hit the soil or a pothole.

It was getting late, the evening was showing through the sky and the atmosphere that surrounded them, something that the married woman noticed just when Rosie’s little chubby hand reached cutely towards the curtains of the carriage, grabbing the fabric before pulling with all her strength, a cute proud baby smile crossing her face as soon as she managed to reveal the sight behind the window.

A beautiful sunset was peeking through the clouds, illuminating beautifully the fields that they were passing by. Y/n glanced for a moment, before focusing on Lily's face, but Rosie… the youngest girl seemed to be completely in love with the sight.

Wild horses running around the green fields, getting all her attention. Her mother sighed with defeat again, realizing that.. she still didn't get anything for her husband.

”Any ideas for a Christmas gift for your dad?” She tried again with a weak smile. Lily was about to say something, getting ready to babble random ideas but her little sister interrupted her suddenly.

”A HOWSE!” Rosie squealed out, pointing at the little pony on the field. Her tiny body started to bounce cutely in excitement, her pigtails as well while her chubby small hands clapped together in happiness. “Mama, a HOWSEE!” she sang again, getting carefully up on the seat to try and look at the small animal better.

One of the many things Rosie had in common with her father was the passion for… horses.

Y/n finally had the answer to the question that kept tormenting her since the whole keep, and all thanks to the little female copy of her husband.

“You’re a genius, baby!” she exclaimed quickly, attacking the toddler with kisses as she squealed, wiggling around excited by the unexpected affection “Both geniuses” Y/n corrected herself quickly, filling Lily’s face with pecks as well before she could pout and get offended.

The woman would have bought her husband a horse and not any horse but the perfect one. Luckily she had two tiny helpers that would have loved to assist their mother during this important secret mission.

The next day Y/n woke up full of energy, motivated by the new little plan she made with her girls. She was ready to make her husband happy this year.

As soon as Tommy left to work, Y/n headed to Lily's and Rosie's room, finding the girls just as excited as she was. Standing in a fighting pose, already dressed and ready for a mission. So as soon as Y/n fixed Rosie's clothes which were worn inside out, they were ready to go.

Sitting in the carriage, they whispered details about the mission that their mother named N.O.M.

New old man.

Nothing could go wrong.

Christmas Eve came really quickly. Already around eight AM Y/n was on her feet, running around and preparing a couple meals with Frances before she quietly escaped the house, jumping into Arthur's car as they went to collect Tommy's gift.

Thomas himself woke up a little later, around eleven and as soon as he opened his eyes, two identical pairs were staring right at him, sitting on the king sized bed.

”He woke up” Rosie whispered to Lily, still looking at him.

”I can see that.” Lily replied in a whisper as well, before jumping onto her feet and jumping around the bed singing Christmas songs while Rosie lay on top of her dad.

”She does it since I woke up, Dada.” Rosie whispered to Tommy in a complaining voice, making him giggle as he patted her hair.

His tired eyes watched her younger daughter stay in that position, just comfortably lying like a star on his board chest, allowing him to play a bit with her dark hair before scoffing cutely when he poked her chubby cheek “Hey” Rosie exclaimed cutely with her high pitched voice, her tiny fingers wrapping lazily around his thick callus index one. Lily still hopping around like a tiny gremlin, sharing her happiness with two grumpy people.

It took just another Christmas song for Tommy to move his arm around Rosie, so as not to make her fall down, and slowly sit up, running his free hand through his hair with a sigh, before throwing the blanket away as he stood up… earning a loud giggle from the little girl.

”Who’s excited for Christmas?!” Thomas asked, looking at his children with a grin placing them both on the bed with their arms up.

”I am!” They both yelled before their dad swept them up in his arms, running out of the room and making them giggle and squeal.

As they came down all dressed, Y/n was already in her Christmas outfit.

Her hair beautifully put up, red lipstick decorating her lips and fitting perfectly with the red dress she wore.

”There are my sweet people!” She exclaimed happily as Lily ran straight into her mum's embrace while Rosie remained by Tommy's side, holding his finger with her tiny hand.

As they came closer, Thomas leaned down to kiss his wife, hearing a juicy ”bleh” from Lily's mouth and Rosie's cute giggles.

”What time are we starting? It will be over an hour ride for Polly.” He spoke up, checking his watch, not noticing Y/n glancing down at the girls with a mischievous grin.

”Pretty soon, you should go get them because Frances almost finished with the food.” She replied in a neutral tone, causing Tommy to sigh and nod, before stealing another kiss as he made his way to the door, winking at his daughters.

As soon as they heard his Bentley pull away from their property, Y/n started rushing to the door, pulling girls along.

”Quickly! We have an hour to put a damn bow on a horse!” She hissed playfully, giggling as soon as her girls started too.

The three girls quickly ran to the stables, heading in the hidden spot where they had arranged a small place where to hide the young brown foal they got him. Temperamental was the baby horse, huffing as soon as it saw them approach with a bow in Y/n’s hand. Seeing it, the woman sighed.

”We should have done it first before getting dressed for Christmas Eve.” she murmured, rolling up her sleeves ready to wrestle with a damn baby horse just so that her daughters would be happy just like her husband.

It took her nearly twenty minutes to deal with the problem, trying her best to not get her dress dirty as she fixed the foal like the kids wanted, both cheering for her as if she was in a wrestling or boxing.

”Done.” She murmured with a smile, looking at the angry little foal with a bow wrapped around its neck as she fixed her hairstyle.

As soon as Tommy parked his car and climbed out of it, his icy blue eyes caught a glimpse of a red baby dress.. moving around and fast in a precise direction.

A smile appeared on his face as he started to follow his little princess, determined to find out what she was doing all alone.

She was quite fast when she wanted, her tiny legs carrying her where she wanted, looking like a tiny garden gnome.

Tommy's pace wasn't that fast, he was walking calmly so as not to scare Rosie off and be able to find out her intentions, pushing down the worries a protective father carried on his shoulder every day.

“Rosie” he called out as she stood in front of the stables, making her quickly turn around scared before running cutely inside, making Tommy's pace quicken up as he followed her, afraid that she'd get hurt.

“Rosaline!” He called out again, raising his deep voice while entering as well, rushing inside to grab her tiny, naughty body “What are you doing, young lady?” He asked, tickling her clothed tummy making her giggle loudly, forcing the truth out of her.

“Da bait!” She informed him with a louder giggle, her tiny chubby hands touching his face to feel his freshly shaved skin “DADA HEWE!” She screamed as loud as she could, her tiny body shaking softly in his hands, making his face twist in disapproval.

Tommy eyed her confused, holding her better in his arms before focusing his gaze towards the direction where he saw the movements. Lily walked out alone, running to him with the intention to hug him excitedly

“Merry Christmas, Daddy!!” followed shortly after by Y/n who helped out the foal, a soft smile on her face as soon as her eyes rested on her husband.

Thomas still seemed confused yet a smile was stretched on his lips as soon as he noticed the bow on the horse.

”What’s that?” He asked with a chuckle, looking at his wife. Y/n didn't manage to speak up first, as Rosie beat her to it.

”Da, it's baby howse!” She exclaimed, gesturing with her chubby fingers at the head of the foal, clearly annoyed by the lack of knowledge from Tommy, which made Y/n laugh out loud.

”Not what but who!” Lily added, coming closer to a foal that she pet lightly. ”It’s Daddy’s Gift!” She said with excitement, smiling brightly.

Thomas came closer, crouching in front of the animal before he patted its head, looking into the horse's eyes. Murmuring something under his breath in Romani, Tommy shook his head with a chuckle.

”My gift, eh?” He turned to face Y/n, but of course Lily couldn't let it slide.

”No! I mean… yes, but no! His name is Daddy's Gift!” She tried to explain while grinning at her parents, ignoring the fact that she was lacking most teeth.

Thomas turned to Y/n again, after glancing at Lily, grabbing a hold of her face as he looked down at her with a smile.

”Merry Christmas, husband.” She whispered looking at his lips while grinning.

”Merry Christmas, my beautiful wife.” He whispered back, before leaning down and kissing her sweetly.

Of course it couldn't last long before Lily was glued to her mum's leg, hugging her tightly.

The moment was very nice… even beautiful before they suddenly heard a weird sound.

Thomas turned around alarmed, just to see Rosie with loose, big hair and wide eyes.

The silence was loud before she spoke up.

”Da’s gift ate Rosie's band.” She explained quietly, looking like she got struck by lightning. Her face turned slowly into an upset one as she tried to get it back cutely “me no like NOM anymowe!” She exclaimed angrily, stomping her foot. Thomas turned to Y/n with a question on his face, and she quickly shook her head. Reaching for her own bow to gift it to their daughter.

”No… no, it's nothing impotat…” She tried to say, but Lily beat her to it, as always.

”New old man!” She yelled out with a giggle, making Rosie cover her face with her tiny hand as she shook her head cutely.

Thomas looked at his wife with a mischievous grin followed by a raised eyebrows, and she could already tell that this expression… meant that he wasn't up to no good.

“Old man, eh?” He simply murmured as he gave her a short nod which said too many things.

Even though their family was definitely.. unique, Tommy wouldn't exchange them for anything else in the whole world

[thedevilworkshardnheskickngmyass]

Hi, can you please write an oneshot where reader exploited yandere Klaus Mikaelson’s trust by faking her affection to escape, but she returned to his house a few hours later crying and apologising because she realised she cannot live without him and her feeling toward him is actually real despite she tried to convince herself otherwise? Thanks a lot.

You came back

My plan was supposed to be perfect.

It had taken fucking months to accomplish only for me to wind back up in the same situation by choice.

Weeks of gaining his trust and being loving.

I had kissed him, touched him, declared my love for him.

I had laughed at his jokes, worn what he asked of me. I was his precious girl and my own stupid mind had to go and fuck it all up.

I thought I was free.

I had tricked the beast.

I was out, my legs moving so fast I couldn’t feel them as I bolted through trees.

And yet once I was miles out of reach and ‘free’ I was really just alone.

What the actual fuck was I meant to do without Klaus?

He did everything for me.

I had no money and was in a thin summer dress, but the sky was getting darker and the winds were picking up.

The cars that went past scared me, I wasn’t used to the outside noises anymore or the bright headlights. I had ran off before I had eaten and now I was starving with nothing but trees for miles. I was too afraid to follow the road incase he was driving on it.

But after another few hours of aimlessly walking, I just wanted him to come get me. I wanted to go back home and snuggle up with him. I want his hands in my hair while we watch his stupid films and he feeds be strawberries and calls me his princess. I want him to wrap me up in a blanket and rock me to sleep with promises of a better future. He’s never gonna let me do anything now.

He’s gonna put me back in the basement instead of upstairs and I’m gonna have to sit silence again and wait for him to stop yelling at me.

And yet despite all of those factors, I still found myself back at his house. But he wasn’t home. So I just waited on his doorstep for hours. Until he came back.

I was curled up on his doormat with tears rolling down my cheeks and my body shivering.

My eyes were closed in the silent hope that I would either fall asleep or die before he got back.

Bur the second I heard a car pull up I was wide awake and my eyes shot open. I whined at the blinding lights from the car and covered my head in my arms

I could head his footsteps as he quickly approaches me

“Sweetheart” he whispered before I was lifted into his arms. I hid my face in his chest as he rubbed my back. I let out a sob as my hands gripped his henley.

I could feel the warmth of the house as he brought me inside and locked the door behind us. I bit the inside of my cheek when I opened my eyes, we were heading for the basement

“Please no” I whispered “Please I’ll do anything else” I begged “please, please I’m sorry” i cried, I held onto him tighter “I’m sorry” I repeated, i kissed his neck softly “I’m so sorry”

I could feel his hands in my hair as he opened the door and I immediately let out a cry “nononono” I whimpered, my nails dug into him “I came back” I whispered “I came back!” I yelled “I came back you can’t do this!” I pressed my lips to his but he pulled away, his hand grabbing my neck

“You ran.” He stated

“I came back” I whispered, tears staining my face as he tried to drag me down the stairs “I came back to you” I cried

“You tricked me” he muttered coldly

“I’m sorry” I whispered “I was scared…but I need you…I want you, I know that now”

His hand stroked my face “how am I supposed to believe you sweetheart?” He asked, hurt visible on his face

“I’ll do anything you want” I promised

“You let me do that already” he muttered, shaking his head “you let me do all those things just to run away didn’t you?”

I looked down and he nodded, I didn’t struggle as he put me into the cell that was originally my room. He sat me down on the floor and searched me, he frowned when he saw the rips in my dress and little cuts from where I had ran through the bushes and trees.

“Why would you come back?” He asked quietly “you went through so much trouble to get away, you’re freezing, bleeding and white as a ghost” he murmured “did something happen?” He questioned and my expression softened. Even wen he was mad, he still cared. He would always care. He loved me.

I shook my head “I missed you” I uttered and he nodded, holding my hand “there were so many loud things and it was dark, and cold, and I couldn’t find any food in the woods and then I was lost and I couldn’t find you- I couldn’t” I brought my knees to my chest as I choked on my own words.

I was lifted back into his arms on onto his lap making me cling to him tightly “you were in the woods? Sweetheart you were missing over 14 hours”

I rubbed my face against his chest, pushing his scent into my nose. I wrapped my arms around him as I nuzzled into him “will you stay here please?” I asked weakly “please, just ten minutes”

His hand pet my head and I was lifted back up, I squeezed his shirt and looked up to him in confusion “where are we going?” I questioned and he looked down to me, his fingers tucked a strand of hair behind my ear

“To my room sweetheart” he murmured kissing my head softly and speeding up both flights if stairs.

“Why?” I whispered as he put me down on his bed

“You came back” he responded as though it were obvious, “you came back” he repeated before kissing my lips softly.

His hands unbuttoned my dress at the back and lifted it over my head leaving me in my underwear. I looked up at him nervously but his expression held no malicious intent. He lifted me once more and brought me to his bathroom and pushed my panties down my legs. I stayed silent as he took my bra off and then stripped from his clothes. His arm went round my waist, pulling me to him and bringing us both into the shower. He turned it on and onto the hot temperature I liked.

My eyes shut as he kissed my neck gently, his fingers brushing through my hair to get it all wet. I sighed out as he lathered my hair in shampoo, the heat if the water was much needed after shaking in a forest for over a dozen hours.

“I do love you” I whispered “I’m sorry I didn’t know that until now…and I’m sorry I lied before when I said that I did when maybe I didn’t yet”

“It’s alright” he muttered, rinsing my hair, “I haven’t made this easy for you sweetheart, I admit to that. I understand why you ran away, it’s okay…but I never expected you to come back, I shouldn’t have been so mad…I shouldn’t have put you back down there. You came back, you’re perfect, my precious princess”

I pushed against him closer, pressing our bodies together. “I love you” I whispered again, hugging him to me. We remained silent until we were finished and I was swaddled with one of his big fluffy towels.

His arms kept me to him as he carried me back to his bed, grabbing clothes on his way.

He slipped my silky pyjamas up my legs and over my head before throwing on his boxers and getting into bed.

I looked around for a minute, I didn’t come into Klaus’s room very often. He had a window that could open and he didn’t like to risk me being able to jump. It smelt like him, covered in artwork and the colour scheme was dark. His bed was bigger than mine, bigger than any bed I had ever seen and comfiest too.

I kept still as I felt him combing through my hair and pulling it into a low ponytail. “You want to go look out the window?” He asked softly, normally looking outside was great but after experiencing the world again I didn’t want to go back so I shook my head quickly and lead down beside him.

He pulled me to him, his arms pulling me so his front curled around my back. “You won’t leave again, do you understand?” He questioned though it was really just a statement.

“I won’t leave again” I repeated

“Good girl” he murmured

I turned in his arms to face him and smiled weakly. He leant down and kissed my lips softly a few times “I love you sweetheart, I don’t want anything to happen to you…You know that” he mumbled, his hand cupped my face making my eyes close “I love you” he breathed with a kiss to my forehead “I’m so proud of you for coming back”

“I’ll always come back”